THE   FAITH    OF   MEN 
AND   OTHER   STORIES 


The  Faith  of  Men 


AND    OTHER    STORIES 


BY 


JACK    LONDON 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  CALL  OF  THE  WILD,"  "PEOPLE 
OF  THE  ABYSS,"  ETC.,  ETC. 


gotft 
THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

LONDON:   MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LTD. 
1904 

All  rights  reserved 


COPYRIGHT,  1904, 
BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.      Published  April,  1904.     Reprinted 
June,  August,  September,  1904. 


Nortoaoto 

J.  S.  Cusliing  &  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


Contents 

PAGE 

A  Relic  of  the  Pliocene I 

A  Hyperborean  Brew  .          «         .          •          .27 

The  Faith  of  Men 67 

Too  Much  Gold 99 

The  One  Thousand  Dozen 135 

The  Marriage  of  Lit-Lit 175 

Batard 199 

The  Story  of  Jees  Uck 233 


261332 


A  RELIC  OF  THE  PLIOCENE 


A    RELIC    OF   THE    PLIOCENE1 

I  WASH  my  hands  of  him  at  the  start. 
I  cannot  father  his  tales,  nor  will  I  be 
responsible  for  them.  I  make  these  pre 
liminary  reservations,  observe,  as  a  guard  upon 
my  own  integrity.  I  possess  a  certain  definite 
position  in  a  small  way,  also  a  wife ;  and  for 
the  good  name  of  the  community  that  hon 
ors  my  existence  with  its  approval,  and  for 
the  sake  of  her  posterity  and  mine,  I  cannot 
take  the  chances  I  once  did,  nor  foster  proba 
bilities  with  the  careless  improvidence  of  youth. 
So,  I  repeat,  I  wash  my  hands  of  him,  this 
Nimrod,  this  mighty  hunter,  this  homely,  blue- 
eyed,  freckle-faced  Thomas  Stevens. 

Having  been  honest  to  myself,  and  to  what 
ever  prospective  olive  branches  my  wife  may 
be  pleased  to  tender  me,  I  can  now  afford  to 

1  Copyright,  1900,  by  P.  F.  Collier  &  Son, 
3 


, /:  A   RELIC   OF   THE   PLIOCENE 

be  generous.  I  shall  not  criticise  the  tales 
told  me  by  Thomas  Stevens,  and,  further,  I 
shall  withhold  my  judgment.  If  it  be  asked 
why,  I  can  only  add  that  judgment  I  have 
none.  Long  have  I  pondered,  weighed,  and 
balanced,  but  never  have  my  conclusions  been 
twice  the  same  —  forsooth  !  because  Thomas 
Stevens  is  a  greater  man  than  I.  If  he  have 
told  truths,  well  and  good ;  if  untruths,  still 
well  and  good.  For  who  can  prove  ?  or  who 
disprove  ?  I  eliminate  myself  from  the  propo 
sition,  while  those  of  little  faith  may  do  as  I 
have  done  —  go  find  the  said  Thomas  Stevens, 
and  discuss  to  his  face  the  various  matters  which, 
if  fortune  serve,  I  shall  relate.  As  to  where 
he  may  be  found  ?  The  directions  are  simple  : 
anywhere  between  53  north  latitude  and  the 
Pole,  on  the  one  hand ;  and,  on  the  other,  the 
likeliest  hunting  grounds  that  lie  between 
the  east  coast  of  Siberia  and  farthermost  Lab 
rador.  That  he  is  there,  somewhere,  within 
that  clearly  defined  territory,  I  pledge  the 
word  of  an  honorable  man  whose  expecta 
tions  entail  straight  speaking  and  right  living. 


A    RELIC    OF    THE    PLIOCENE          5 

Thomas  Stevens  may  have  toyed  prodi 
giously  with  truth,  but  when  we  first  met  (it 
were  well  to  mark  this  point),  he  wandered 
into  my  camp  when  I  thought  myself  a  thou 
sand  miles  beyond  the  outermost  post  of  civ-  ** 
ilization.  At  the  sight  of  his  human  face,  the 
first  in  weary  months,  I  could  have  sprung 
forward  and  folded  him  in  my  arms  (and  I 
am  not  by  any  means  a  demonstrative  man) ; 
but  to  him  his  visit  seemed  the  most  casual  <~ 
thing  under  the  sun.  He  just  strolled  into 
the  light  of  my  camp,  passed  the  time  of  day 
after  the  custom  of  men  on  beaten  trails,  threw*- 
my  snowshoes  the  one  way  and  a  couple  of 
dogs  the  other,  and  so  made  room  for  him 
self  by  the  fire.  Said  he'd  just  dropped  in 
to  borrow  a  pinch  of  soda  and  to  see  if  I 
had  any  decent  tobacco.  He  plucked  forth 
an  ancient  pipe,  loaded  it  with  painstaking 
care,  and,  without  as  much  as  by  your  leave, 
whacked  half  the  tobacco  of  my  pouch  into 
his.  Yes,  the  stuff  was  fairly  good.  He 
sighed  with  the  contentment  of  the  just,  and 
literally  absorbed  the  smoke  from  the  crisping 


6          A    RELIC    OF   THE    PLIOCENE 

yellow  flakes,  and  it  did  my  smoker's  heart 
good  to  behold  him. 

Hunter?  Trapper?  Prospector?  He 
shrugged  his  shoulders  No ;  just  sort  of 
'knocking  round  a  bit.  Had  come  up  from 
the  Great  Slave  some  time  since,  and  was 
thinking  of  trapsing  over  into  the  Yukon 
country.  The  Factor  of  Koshim  had  spoken 
about  the  discoveries  on  the  Klondike,  and  he 
was  of  a  mind  to  run  over  for  a  peep.  I 
noticed  that  he  spoke  of  the  Klondike  in  the 
archaic  vernacular,  calling  it  the  Reindeer 
River  —  a  conceited  custom  that  the  Old 
Timers  employ  against  the  che-cha-quas  and 
all  tenderfeet  in  general.  But  he  did  it  so 
naively  and  as  such  a  matter  of  course,  that 
there  was  no  sting,  and  I  forgave  him.  He 
also  had  it  in  view,  he  said,  before  he  crossed 
the  divide  into  the  Yukon,  to  make  a  little 
run  up  Fort  o'  Good  Hope  way. 

Now  Fort  o'  Good  Hope  is  a  far  journey 
to  the  north,  over  and  beyond  the  Circle,  in 
a  place  where  the  feet  of  few  men  have  trod ; 
and  when  a  nondescript  ragamuffin  comes  in 


A    RELIC    OF   THE    PLIOCENE          7 

out  of  the  night,  from  nowhere  in  particular, 
to  sit  by  one's  fire  and  discourse  on  such  in 
terms  of  "  trapsing "  and  "  a  little  run,"  it  is 
fair  time  to  rouse  up  and  shake  off  the  dream. 
Wherefore  I  looked  about  me ;  saw  the  fly, 
and,  underneath,  the  pine  boughs  spread  for 
the  sleeping  furs ;  saw  the  grub  sacks,  the 
camera,  the  frosty  breaths  of  the  dogs  circling 
on  the  edge  of  the  light ;  and,  above,  a  great 
streamer  of  the  aurora  bridging  the  zenith  from 
southeast  to  northwest.  I  shivered.  There 
is  a  magic  in  the  Northland  night,  that  steals 
in  on  one  like  fevers  from  malarial  marshes. 
You  are  clutched  and  downed  before  you  are 
aware.  Then  I  looked  to  the  snowshoes, 
lying  prone  and  crossed  where  he  had  flung 
them.  Also  I  had  an  eye  to  my  tobacco 
pouch.  Half,  at  least,  of  its  goodly  store 
had  vamosed.  That  settled  it.  Fancy  had 
not  tricked  me  after  all. 

Crazed  with  suffering,  I  thought,  looking 
steadfastly  at  the  man  —  one  of  those  wild 
stampeders,  strayed  far  from  his  bearings  and 
wandering  like  a  lost  soul  through  great  vast- 


8          A   RELIC   OF   THE    PLIOCENE 

nesses  and  unknown  deeps.  Oh,  well,  let  his 
moods  slip  on,  until,  mayhap,  he  gathers  his 
tangled  wits  together.  Who  knows  ?  —  the 
mere  sound  of  a  fellow-creature's  voice  may 
bring  all  straight  again. 

So  I  led  him  on  in  talk,  and  soon  I  mar 
velled,  for  he  talked  of  game  and  the  ways 
thereof.  He  had  killed  the  Siberian  wolf  of 
westernmost  Alaska,  and  the  chamois  in  the 
.  secret  Rockies.  He  averred  he  knew  the 
^  haunts  where  the  last  buffalo  still  roamed; 
that  he  had  hung  on  the  flanks  of  the  caribou 
when  they  ran  by  the  hundred  thousand,  and 
slept  in  the  Great  Barrens  on  the  musk-ox's 
winter  trail. 

And  I  shifted  my  judgment  accordingly  (the 
first  revision,  but  by  no  account  the  last),  and 
deemed  him  a  monumental  effigy  of  truth. 
Why  it  was  I  know  not,  but  the  spirit  moved 
me  to  repeat  a  tale  told  to  me  by  a  man  who 
had  dwelt  in  the  land  too  long  to  know  better. 
It  was  of  the  great  bear  that  hugs  the  steep 
slopes  of  St.  Elias,  never  descending  to  the 
levels  of  the  gentler  inclines.  Now  God  so 


A    RELIC    OF   THE    PLIOCENE          9 

constituted  this  creature  for  its  hillside  habitat 
that  the  legs  of  one  side  are  all  of  a  foot  longer 
than  those  of  the  other.  This  is  mighty  con 
venient,  as  will  be  readily  admitted.  So  I 
hunted  this  rare  beast  in  my  own  name,  told 
it  in  the  first  person,  present  tense,  painted  the 
requisite  locale,  gave  it  the  necessary  garnish- 
ings  and  touches  of  verisimilitude,  and  looked 
to  see  the  man  stunned  by  the  recital. 

Not  he.  Had  he  doubted,  I  could  have 
forgiven  him.  Had  he  objected,  denying  the 
dangers  of  such  a  hunt  by  virtue  of  the 
animars  inability  to  turn  about  and  go 
the  other  way  —  had  he  done  this,  I  say,  I 
could  have  taken  him  by  the  hand  for  the 
true  sportsman  that  he  was.  Not  he.  He 
sniffed,  looked  on  me,  and  sniffed  again ;  then 
gave  my  tobacco  due  praise,  thrust  one  foot 
into  my  lap,  and  bade  me  examine  the  gear. 
It  was  a  mucluc  of  the  Innuit  pattern,  sewed 
together  with  sinew  threads,  and  devoid  of 
beads  or  furbelows.  But  it  was  the  skin 
itself  that  was  remarkable.  In  that  it  was  all 
of  half  an  inch  thick,  it  reminded  me  of 


io        A    RELIC    OF   THE    PLIOCENE 

walrus-hide ;  but  there  the  resemblance  ceased, 
for  no  walrus  ever  bore  so  marvellous  a  growth 
of  hair.  On  the  side  and  ankles  this  hair  was 
well-nigh  worn  away,  what  of  friction  with 
underbrush  and  snow ;  but  around  the  top  and 
down  the  more  sheltered  back  it  was  coarse, 
dirty  black,  and  very  thick.  I  parted  it  with 
difficulty  and  looked  beneath  for  the  fine  fur 
that  is  common  with  northern  animals,  b£t 
found  it  in  this  case  to  be  absent.  This,  how 
ever,  was  compensated  for  by  the  length. 
Indeed,  the  tufts  that  had  survived  wear 
and  tear  measured  all  of  seven  or  eight  inches. 

I  looked  up  into  the  man's  face,  and  he 
pulled  his  foot  down  and  asked,  "  Find  hide 
like  that  on  your  St.  Elias  bear?" 

I  shook  my  head.  "  Nor  on  any  other 
creature  of  land  or  sea,"  I  answered  candidly. 
The  thickness  of  it,  and  the  length  of  the 
hair,  puzzled  me. 

"That,"  he  said,  and  said  without  the 
slightest  hint  of  impressiveness,  "  that  came 
from  a  mammoth." 

"  Nonsense  !  "   I  exclaimed,  for  I  could  not 


A   RELIC    OF   THE    PLIOCENE        u 

forbear  the  protest  of  my  unbelief.  "  The 
mammoth,  my  dear  sir,  long  ago  vanished 
from  the  earth.  We  know  it  once  existed 
by  the  fossil  remains  that  we  have  unearthed, 
and  by  a  frozen  carcass  that  the  Siberian 
sun  saw  fit  to  melt  from  out  the  bosom  of  a 
glacier;  but  we  also  know  that  no  living 
specimen  exists.  Our  explorers  —  " 

At  this  word  he  broke  in  impatiently. 
"  Your  explorers  ?  Pish  !  A  weakly  breed. 
Let  us  hear  no  more  of  them.  But  tell  me, 
O  man,  what  you  may  know  of  the  mammoth 
and  his  ways." 

Beyond  contradiction,  this  was  leading  to  a 
yarn ;  so  I  baited  my  hook  by  ransacking  my 
memory  for  whatever  data  I  possessed  on  the 
subject  in  hand.  To  begin  with,  I  emphasized 
that  the  animal  was  prehistoric,  and  marshalled 
all  my  facts  in  support  of  this.  I  mentioned 
the  Siberian  sand  bars  that  abounded  with 
ancient  mammoth  bones ;  spoke  of  the  large 
quantities  of  fossil  ivory  purchased  from  the 
Innuits  by  the  Alaska  Commercial  Company ; 
and  acknowledged  having  myself  mined  six- 


12        A   RELIC    OF   THE    PLIOCENE 

and  eight-foot  tusks  from  the  pay  gravel  of  the 
Klondike  creeks.  "All  fossils/'  I  concluded, 
"  found  in  the  midst  of  debris  deposited 
through  countless  ages.'* 

"  I  remember  when  I  was  a  kid,"  Thomas 
Stevens  sniffed  (he  had  a  most  confounded 
way  of  sniffing),  "that  I  saw  a  petrified 
watermelon.  Hence,  though  mistaken  persons 
sometimes  delude  themselves  into  thinking 
that  they  are  really  raising  or  eating  them, 
there  are  no  such  things  as  extant  water 
melons." 

"  But  the  question  of  food,"  I  objected, 
ignoring  his  point,  which  was  puerile  and 
without  bearing.  "  The  soil  must  bring  forth 
vegetable  life  in  lavish  abundance  to  support 
so  monstrous  creations.  Nowhere  in  the 
North  is  the  soil  so  prolific.  Ergo,  the 
mammoth  cannot  exist." 

"  I  pardon  your  ignorance  concerning  many 
matters  of  this  Northland,  for  you  are  a  young 
man  and  have  travelled  little ;  but,  at  the  same 
time,  I  am  inclined  to  agree  with  you  on  one 
thing.  The  mammoth  no  longer  exists. 


A   RELIC   OF   THE   PLIOCENE        13 

How  do  I  know  ?  I  killed  the  last  one  with 
my  own  right  arm." 

Thus  spake  Nimrod,  the  Mighty  Hunter. 
I  threw  a  stick  of  firewood  at  the  dogs  and 
bade  them  quit  their  unholy  howling,  and 
waited.  Undoubtedly  this  liar  of  singular 
felicity  would  open  his  mouth  and  requite  me 
for  my  St.  Elias  bear. 

"It  was  this  way,"  he  at  last  began,  after 
the  appropriate  silence  had  intervened.  "  I 
was  in  camp  one  day  - —  " 

"  Where  ?  "  I  interrupted. 

He  waved  his  hand  vaguely  in  the  direction 
of  the  northeast,  where  stretched  a  terra  incog 
nita  into  which  vastness  few  men  have  strayed 
and  fewer  emerged.  "  I  was  in  camp  one  day 
with  Klooch.  Klooch  was  as  handsome  a 
little  kamooks  as  ever  whined  betwixt  the  traces 
or  shoved  nose  into  a  camp  kettle.  Her  father 
was  a  full-blood  Malemute  from  Russian  Pas- 
tilik  on  Bering  Sea,  and  I  bred  her,  and  with 
understanding,  out  of  a  clean-legged  bitch  of 
the  Hudson  Bay  stock.  I  tell  you,  O  man, 
she  was  a  corker  combination.  And  now,  on 


i4        A    RELIC    OF   THE    PLIOCENE 

this  day  I  have  in  mind,  she  was  brought  to 
pup  through  a  pure  wild  wolf  of  the  woods  — 
gray,  and  long  of  limb,  with  big  lungs  and  no 
end  of  staying  powers.  Say  !  Was  there  ever 
the  like  ?  It  was  a  new  .breed  of  dog  I  had 
started,  and  I  could  look  forward  to  big  things. 
"  As  I  have  said,  she  was  brought  neatly  to 
pup,  and  safely  delivered.  I  was  squatting  on 
my  hajms  over  the  litter  —  seven  sturdy,  blind 
little  beggars  —  when  from  behind  came  a  bray 
of  trumpets  and  crash  of  brass.  There  was  a 
rush,  like  the  wind-squall  that  kicks  the 
heels  of  the  rain,  and  I  was  midway  to  my 
feet  when  knocked  flat  on  my  face.  At  the 
same  instant  I  heard  Klooch  sigh,  very  much 
as  a  man  does  when  you've  planted  your  fist 
in  his  belly.  You  can  stake  your  sack  I  lay 
quiet,  but  I  twisted  my  head  around  and  saw 
a  huge  bulk  swaying  above  me.  Then  the 
blue  sky  flashed  into  view  and  I  got  to  my 
feet.  A  hairy  mountain  of  flesh  was  just  dis 
appearing  in  the  underbrush  on  the  edge  of 
the  open.  I  caught  a  rear-end  glimpse,  with 
a  stiff  tail,  as  big  in  girth  as  my  body,  standing 


A   RELIC    OF   THE    PLIOCENE        15 

out  straight  behind.  The  next  second  only  a 
tremendous  hole  remained  in  the  thicket, 
though  I  could  still  hear  the  sounds  as  of  a 
tornado  dying  quickly  away,  underbrush  rip 
ping  and  tearing,  and  trees  snapping  and 
crashing. 

"  I  cast  about  for  my  rifle.  It  had  been 
lying  on  the  ground  with  the  muzzle  against 
a  log ;  but  now  the  stock  was  smashed,  the 
barrel  out  of  line,  and  the  working-gear  in  a 
thousand  bits.  Then  I  looked  for  the  slut, 
and  —  and  what  do  you  suppose  ?  " 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  May  my  soul  burn  in  a  thousand  hells  if 
there  was  anything  left  of  her !  Klooch,  the 
seven  sturdy,  blind  little  beggars  —  gone,  all 
gone.  Where  she  had  stretched  was  a  slimy, 
bloody  depression  in  the  soft  earth,  all  of  a 
yard  in  diameter,  and  around  the  edges  a  few 
scattered  hairs." 

I  measured  three  feet  on  the  snow,  threw 
about  it  a  circle,  and  glanced  at  Nimrod. 

"The  beast  was  thirty  long  and  twenty 
high,"  he  answered,  "and  its  tusks  scaled 


16        A   RELIC    OF   THE    PLIOCENE 

over  six  times  three  feet.  I  couldn't  believe, 
myself,  at  the  time,  for  all  that  it  had  just 
happened.  But  if  my  senses  had  played  me, 
there  was  the  broken  gun  and  the  hole  in  the 
brush.  And  there  was  —  or,  rather,  there  was 
not —  Klooch  and  the  pups.  O  man,  it  makes 
me  hot  all  over  now  when  I  think  of  it. 
Klooch  !  Another  Eve  !  The  mother  of  a 
new  race !  And  a  rampaging,  ranting,  old 
bull  mammoth,  like  a  second  flood,  wiping 
them,  root  and  branch,  off  the  face  of  the 
earth !  Do  you  wonder  that  the  blood-soaked 
earth  cried  out  to  high  God  ?  Or  that  I  grabbed 
the  hand-axe  and  took  the  trail  ? " 

"  The  hand-axe  ?  "  I  exclaimed,  startled  out 
of  myself  by  the  picture.  "The  hand-axe, 
and  a  big  bull  mammoth,  thirty  feet  long, 
twenty  feet  —  " 

Nimrod  joined  me  in  my  merriment,  chuck 
ling  gleefully.  "  Wouldn't  it  kill  you  ?  "  he 
cried.  "  Wasn't  it  a  beaver's  dream  ?  Many's 
the  time  I've  laughed  about  it  since,  but  at 
the  time  it  was  no  laughing  matter,  I  was  that 
danged  mad,  what  of  the  gun  and  Klooch. 


A   RELIC    OF   THE    PLIOCENE        17 

Think  of  it,  O  man  !  A  brand-new,  unclassi 
fied,  uncopyrighted  breed,  and  wiped  out  before 
ever  it  opened  its  eyes  or  took  out  its  intention 
papers !  Well,  so  be  it.  Life's  full  of  disap 
pointments,  and  rightly  so.  Meat  is  best  after 
a  famine,  and  a  bed  soft  after  a  hard  trail. 

"As  I  was  saying,  I  took  out  after  the 
beast  with  the  hand-axe,  and  hung  to  its 
heels  down  the  valley ;  but  when  he  circled 
back  toward  the  head,  I  was  left  winded  at  the 
lower  end.  Speaking  of  grub,  I  might  as 
well  stop  long  enough  to  explain  a  couple 
of  points.  Up  thereabouts,  in  the  midst  of 
the  mountains,  is  an  almighty  curious  forma 
tion.  There  is  no  end  of  little  valleys,  each 
like  the  other  much  as  peas  in  a  pod,  and  all 
neatly  tucked  away  with  straight,  rocky  walls 
rising  on  all  sides.  And  at  the  lower  ends 
are  always  small  openings  where  the  drainage 
or  glaciers  must  have  broken  out.  The  only 
way  in  is  through  these  mouths,  and  they  are 
all  small,  and  some  smaller  than  others.  As 
to  grub  —  youVe  slushed  around  on  the  rain- 
soaked  islands  of  the  Alaskan  coast  down 


1 8        A    RELIC    OF   THE   PLIOCENE 

Sitka  way,  most  likely,  seeing  as  you're  a 
traveller.  And  you  know  how  stuff  grows 
there  —  big,  and  juicy,  and  jungly.  Well, 
that's  the  way  it  was  with  those  valleys. 
Thick,  rich  soil,  with  ferns  and  grasses  and 
such  things  in  patches  higher  than  your  head. 
Rain  three  days  out  of  four  during  the  sum 
mer  months  ;  and  food  in  them  for  a  thousand 
mammoths,  to  say  nothing  of  small  game  for 
man. 

"  But  to  get  back.  Down  at  the  lower 
end  of  the  valley  I  got  winded  and  gave  over. 
I  began  to  speculate,  for  when  my  wind  left 
me  my  dander  got  hotter  and  hotter,  and  I 
knew  I'd  never  know  peace  of  mind  till  I 
dined  on  roasted  mammoth-foot.  And  I  knew, 
also,  that  that  stood  for  skookum  mamook  puka- 
puk  —  excuse  Chinook,  I  mean  there  was  a  big 
fight  coming.  Now  the  mouth  of  my  valley 
was  very  narrow,  and  the  walls  steep.  High 
up  on  one  side  was  one  of  those  big  pivot 
rocks,  or  balancing  rocks,  as  some  call  them, 
weighing  all  of  a  couple  of  hundred  tons. 
Just  the  thing.  I  hit  back  for  camp,  keeping 


A    RELIC    OF   THE    PLIOCENE        19 

an  eye  open  so  the  bull  couldn't  slip  past,  and 
got  my  ammunition.  It  wasn't  worth  any 
thing  with  the  rifle  smashed ;  so  I  opened  the 
shells,  planted  the  powder  under  the  rock, 
and  touched  it  off  with  slow  fuse.  Wasn't 
much  of  a  charge,  but  the  old  boulder  tilted  up 
lazily  and  dropped  down  into  place,  with  just 
space  enough  to  let  the  creek  drain  nicely. 
Now  I  had  him." 

"  But  how  did  you  have  him  ?  "  I  queried. 
"  Who  ever  heard  of  a  man  killing  a  mam 
moth  with  a  hand-axe  ?  And,  for  that  matter, 
with  anything  else  ?  " 

"  O  man,  have  I  not  told  you  I  was  mad  ?  " 
Nimrod  replied,  with  a  slight  manifestation 
of  sensitiveness.  "  Mad  clean  through,  what 
of  Klooch  and  the  gun  ?  Also,  was  I  not 
a  hunter  ?  And  was  this  not  new  and  most 
unusual  game  ?  A  hand-axe  ?  Pish  !  I  did 
not  need  it.  Listen,  and  you  shall  hear  of 
a  hunt,  such  as  might  have  happened  in  the 
youth  of  the  world  when  caveman  rounded 
up  the  kill  with  hand-axe  of  stone.  Such 
would  have  served  me  as  well.  Now  is  it  not 


20        A   RELIC    OF   THE    PLIOCENE 

a  fact  that  man  can  outwalk  the  dog  or 
horse  ?  That  he  can  wear  them  out  with 
the  intelligence  of  his  endurance  ? " 

I  nodded. 

"Well?" 

The  light  broke  in  on  me,  and  I  bade  him 
continue. 

"  My  valley  was  perhaps  five  miles  around. 
The  mouth  was  closed.  There  was  no  way 
to  get  out.  A  timid  beast  was  that  bull 
mammoth,  and  I  had  him  at  my  mercy.  I 
got  on  his  heels  again,  hollered  like  a  fiend, 
pelted  him  with  cobbles,  and  raced  him  around 
the  valley  three  times  before  I  knocked  off 
for  supper.  Don't  you  see  ?  A  race-course  ! 
A  man  and  a  mammoth !  A  hippodrome, 
with  sun,  moon,  and  stars  to  referee ! 

"  It  took  me  two  months  to  do  it,  but  I 
did  it.  And  that's  no  beaver  dream.  Round 
and  round  I  ran  him,  me  travelling  on  the 
inner  circle,  eating  jerked  meat  and  salmon 
berries  on  the  run,  and  snatching  winks  of 
sleep  between.  Of  course,  he'd  get  desperate 
at  times  and  turn.  Then  I'd  head  for  soft 


A    RELIC    OF   THE   PLIOCENE        21 

ground  where  the  creek  spread  out,  and  lay 
anathema  upon  him  and  his  ancestry,  and  dare 
him  to  come  on.  But  he  was  too  wise  to  bog 
in  a  mud  puddle.  Once  he  pinned  me  in 
against  the  walls,  and  I  crawled  back  into 
a  deep  crevice  and  waited.  Whenever  he  felt 
for  me  with  his  trunk,  I'd  belt  him  with  the 
hand-axe  till  he  pulled  out,  shrieking  fit  to 
split  my  ear  drums,  he  was  that  mad.  He 
knew  he  had  me  and  didn't  have  me,  and  it 
near  drove  him  wild.  But  he  was  no  man's 
fool.  He  knew  he  was  safe  as  long  as  I  stayed 
in  the  crevice,  and  he  made  up  his  mind  to 
keep  me  there.  And  he  was  dead  right,  only 
he  hadn't  figured  on  the  commissary.  There 
was  neither  grub  nor  water  around  that  spot, 
so  on  the  face  of  it  he  couldn't  keep  up 
the  siege.  He'd  stand  before  the  opening  for 
hours,  keeping  an  eye  on  me  and  flapping 
mosquitoes  away  with  his  big  blanket  ears. 
Then  the  thirst  would  come  on  him  and  he'd 
ramp  round  and  roar  till  the  earth  shook,  call 
ing  me  every  name  he  could  lay  tongue  to. 
This  was  to  frighten  me,  of  course ;  and  when 


22        A    RELIC    OF   THE    PLIOCENE 

he  thought  I  was  sufficiently  impressed,  he'd 
back  away  softly  and  try  to  make  a  sneak  for 
the  creek.  Sometimes  I'd  let  him  get  almost 
there  —  only  a  couple  of  hundred  yards  away 
it  was  —  when  out  I'd  pop  and  back  he'd 
come,  lumbering  along  like  the  old  landslide 
he  was.  After  I'd  done  this  a  few  times, 
and  he'd  figured  it  out,  he  changed  his  tactics. 
Grasped  the  time  element,  you  see.  Without 
a  word  of  warning,  away  he'd  go,  tearing  for 
the  water  like  mad,  scheming  to  get  there  and 
back  before  I  ran  away.  Finally,  after  cursing 
me  most  horribly,  he  raised  the  siege  and 
deliberately  stalked  off  to  the  water  hole. 

"That  was  the  only  time  he  penned  me, — 
three  days  of  it,  —  but  after  that  the  hippo 
drome  never  stopped.  Round,  and  round, 
and  round,  like  a  six  days'  go-as-I -please,  for 
he  never  pleased.  My  clothes  went  to  rags 
and  tatters,  but  I  never  stopped  to  mend,  till 
at  last  I  ran  naked  as  a  son  of  earth,  with 
nothing  but  the  old  hand-axe  in  one  hand 
and  a  cobble  in  the  other.  In  fact,  I  never 
stopped,  save  for  peeps  of  sleep  in  the  crannies 


A    RELIC    OF   THE    PLIOCENE        23 

and  ledges  of  the  cliffs.  As  for  the  bull,  he 
got  perceptibly  thinner  and  thinner  —  must 
have  lost  several  tons  at  least  —  and  as  ner 
vous  as  a  schoolmarm  on  the  wrong  side  of 
matrimony.  When  I'd  come  up  with  him 
and  yell,  or  lam  him  with  a  rock  at  long 
range,  he'd  jump  like  a  skittish  colt  and 
tremble  all  over.  Then  he'd  pull  out  on 
the  run,  tail  and  trunk  waving  stiff,  head  over 
one  shoulder  and  wicked  eyes  blazing,  and  the 
way  he'd  swear  at  me  was  something  dreadful. 
A  most  immoral  beast  he  was,  a  murderer,  and 
a  blasphemer. 

cc  But  toward  the  end  he  quit  all  this,  and 
fell  to  whimpering  and  crying  like  a  baby. 
His  spirit  broke  and  he  became  a  quivering 
jelly-mountain  of  misery.  He'd  get  attacks 
of  palpitation  of  the  heart,  and  stagger  around 
like  a  drunken  man,  and  fall  down  and  bark 
his  shins.  And  then  he'd  cry,  but  always 
on  the  run.  O  man,  the  gods  themselves 
would  have  wept  with  him,  and  you  yourself 
or  any  other  man.  It  was  pitiful,  and  there 
was  so  much  of  it,  but  I  only  hardened  my 


24        A   RELIC   OF   THE    PLIOCENE 

heart  and  hit  up  the  pace.  At  last  I  wore 
him  clean  out,  and  he  lay  down,  broken- 
winded,  broken-hearted,  hungry,  and  thirsty. 
When  I  found  he  wouldn't  budge,  I  ham 
strung  him,  and  spent  the  better  part  of  the 
day  wading  into  him  with  the  hand-axe,  he  a 
sniffing  and  sobbing  till  I  worked  in  far 
enough  to  shut  him  off.  Thirty  feet  long  he 
was,  and  twenty  high,  and  a  man  could  sling  a 
hammock  between  his  tusks  and  sleep  com 
fortably.  Barring  the  fact  that  I  had  run 
most  of  the  juices  out  of  him,  he  was  fair  eat 
ing,  and  his  four  feet,  alone,  roasted  whole, 
would  have  lasted  a  man  a  twelvemonth.  I 
spent  the  winter  there  myself." 

"  And  where  is  this  valley  ?  "  I  asked. 

He  waved  his  hand  in  the  direction  of  the 
northeast,  and  said :  "  Your  tobacco  is  very 
good.  I  carry  a  fair  share  of  it  in  my  pouch, 
but  I  shall  carry  the  recollection  of  it  until  I 
die.  In  token  of  my  appreciation,  and  in 
return  for  the  moccasins  on  your  own  feet,  I 
will  present  to  you  these  muclucs.  They  com 
memorate  Klooch  and  the  seven  blind  little 


A   RELIC    OF   THE    PLIOCENE        25 

beggars.  They  are  also  souvenirs  of  an  un 
paralleled  event  in  history,  namely,  the  de 
struction  of  the  oldest  breed  of  animal  on 
earth,  and  the  youngest.  And  their  chief 
virtue  lies  in  that  they  will  never  wear  out." 

Having  effected  the  exchange,  he  knocked 
the  ashes  from  his  pipe,  gripped  my  hand 
good  night,  and  wandered  off  through  the 
snow.  Concerning  this  tale,  for  which  I  have 
already  disclaimed  responsibility,  I  would 
recommend  those  of  little  faith  to  make  a 
visit  to  the  Smithsonian  Institute.  If  they 
bring  the  requisite  credentials  and  do  not  come 
in  vacation  time,  they  will  undoubtedly  gain 
an  audience  with  Professor  Dolvidson.  The 
muclucs  are  in  his  possession,  and  he  will 
verify,  not  the  manner  in  which  they  were 
obtained,  but  the  material  of  which  they  are 
composed.  When  he  states  that  they  are 
made  from  the  skin  of  the  mammoth,  the 
scientific  world  accepts  his  verdict.  What 
more  would  you  have? 


A    HYPERBOREAN    BREW 


A    HYPERBOREAN    BREW1 

THE  STORY  OF  A  SCHEMING  WHITE  MAN  AMONG 
THE  STRANGE  PEOPLE  WHO  LIVE  ON  THE 
RIM  OF  THE  ARCTIC  SEA 

THOMAS  STEVENS'S  veracity  may 
have  been  indeterminate  as  x,  and  his 
imagination  the  imagination  of  ordi 
nary  men  increased  to  the  nth  power,  but  this, 
at  least,  must  be  said :  never  did  he  deliver 
himself  of  word  nor  deed  that  could  be 
branded  as  a  lie  outright.  .  .  .  He  may  have 
played  with  probability,  and  verged  on  the 
extremest  edge  of  possibility,  but  in  his  tales 
the  machinery  never  creaked.  That  he  knew 
the  Northland  like  a  book,  not  a  soul  can 
deny.  That  he  was  a  great  traveller,  and  had 
set  foot  on  countless  unknown  trails,  many 
evidences  affirm.  Outside  of  my  own  personal 

1  Copyright,  1901,  by  the  Metropolitan 
29 


30  A    HYPERBOREAN    BREW 

knowledge,  I  knew  men  that  had  met  him 
everywhere,  but  principally  on  the  confines  of 
Nowhere.  There  was  Johnson,  the  ex-Hudson 
Bay  Company  factor,  who  had  housed  him  in 
a  Labrador  factory  until  his  dogs  rested  up 
a  bit,  and  he  was  able  to  strike  out  again. 
There  was  McMahon,  agent  for  the  Alaska 
Commercial  Company,  who  had  run  across 
him  in  Dutch  Harbor,  and  later  on,  among 
the  outlying  islands  of  the  Aleutian  group. 
It  was  indisputable  that  he  had  guided  one 
of  the  earlier  United  States  surveys,  and 
history  states  positively  that  in  a  similar  ca 
pacity  he  served  the  Western  Union  when  it 
attempted  to  put  through  its  trans-Alaskan 
and  Siberian  telegraph  to  Europe.  Further, 
there  was  Joe  Lamson,  the  whaling  captain, 
who,  when  ice-bound  off  the  mouth  of  the 
Mackenzie,  had  had  him  come  aboard  after 
tobacco. 

This  last  touch  proves  Thomas  Stevens's 
identity  conclusively.  His  quest  for  tobacco 
was  perennial  and  untiring.  Ere  we  became 
fairly  acquainted,  I  learned  to  greet  him  with 


A    HYPERBOREAN    BREW  31 

one  hand,  and  pass  the  pouch  with  the  other. 
But  the  night  I  met  him  in  John  O'Brien's 
Dawson  saloon,  his  head  was  wreathed  in  a 
nimbus  of  fifty-cent  cigar  smoke,  and  instead 
of  my  pouch  he  demanded  my  sack.  We 
were  standing  by  a  faro  table,  and  forthwith 
he  tossed  it  upon  the  "  high  card."  "  Fifty," 
he  said,  and  the  gamekeeper  nodded.  The 
"  high  card  "  turned,  and  he  handed  back  my 
sack,  called  for  a  "  tab,"  and  drew  me  over 
to  the  scales,  where  the  weigher  nonchalantly 
cashed  him  out  fifty  dollars  in  dust. 

"  And  now  we'll  drink,"  he  said ;  and  later, 
at  the  bar,  when  he  lowered  his  glass :  "  Re 
minds  me  of  a  little  brew  I  had  up  Tattarat 
way.  No,  you  have  no  knowledge  of  the 
place,  nor  is  it  down  on  the  charts.  But  it's 
up  by  the  rim  of  the  Arctic  Sea,  not  so  many 
hundred  miles  from  the  American  line,  and 
all  of  half  a  thousand  God-forsaken  souls  live 
there,  giving  and  taking  in  marriage,  and 
starving  and  dying  in-between-whiles.  Ex 
plorers  have  overlooked  them,  and  you  will 
not  find  them  in  the  census  of  1890.  A 


32  A    HYPERBOREAN    BREW 

whale-ship  was  pinched  there  once,  but  the 
men,  who  had  made  shore  over  the  ice,  pulled 
out  for  the  south  and  were  never  heard  of. 

"  But  it  was  a  great  brew  we  had,  Moosu 
and  I,"  he  added  a  moment  later,  with  just 
the  slightest  suspicion  of  a  sigh. 

I  knew  there  were  big  deeds  and  wild  doings 
behind  that  sigh,  so  I  haled  him  into  a  corner, 
between  a  roulette  outfit  and  a  poker  layout, 
and  waited  for  his  tongue  to  thaw. 

"  Had  one  objection  to  Moosu,"  he  began, 
cocking  his  head  meditatively — "one  objec 
tion,  and  only  one.  He  was  an  Indian  from 
over  on  the  edge  of  the  Chippewyan  country, 
but  the  trouble  was,  he'd  picked  up  a  smat 
tering  of  the  Scriptures.  Been  campmate  a 
season  with  a  renegade  French  Canadian  who'd 
studied  for  the  church.  Moosu'd  never  seen 
applied  Christianity,  and  his  head  was  crammed 
with  miracles,  battles,  and  dispensations,  and 
what  not  he  didn't  understand.  Otherwise 
he  was  a  good  sort,  and  a  handy  man  on 
trail  or  over  a  fire. 

"  We'd  had  a  hard  time  together  and  were 


A    HYPERBOREAN    BREW  33 

badly  knocked  out  when  we  plumped  upon 
Tattarat.  Lost  outfits  and  dogs  crossing  a 
divide  in  a  fall  blizzard,  and  our  bellies  clove 
to  our  backs  and  our  clothes  were  in  rags 
when  we  crawled  into  the  village.  They 
weren't  much  surprised  at  seeing  us  —  because 
of  the  whalemen  —  and  gave  us  the  meanest 
shack  in  the  village  to  live  in,  and  the  worst 
of  their  leavings  to  live  on.  What  struck  me 
at  the  time  as  strange  was  that  they  left  us 
strictly  alone.  But  Moosu  explained  it. 

" c  Shaman  sick  tumtumj  he  said,  meaning 
the  shaman,  or  medicine  man,  was  jealous, 
and  had  advised  the  people  to  have  nothing 
to  do  with  us.  From  the  little  he'd  seen  of 
the  whalemen,  he'd  learned  that  mine  was  a 
stronger  race,  and  a  wiser ;  so  he'd  only 
behaved  as  shamans  have  always  behaved  the 
world  over.  And  before  I  get  done,  you'll 
see  how  near  right  he  was. 

" c  These  people  have  a  law,'  said  Moosu  : 
'  Whoso  eats  of  meat  must  hunt.  We  be 
awkward,  you  and  I,  O  master,  in  the  weap 
ons  of  this  country  ;  nor  can  we  string  bows 


34  A    HYPERBOREAN    BREW 

nor  fling  spears  after  the  manner  approved. 
Wherefore  the  shaman  and  Tummasook,  who 
is  chief,  have  put  their  heads  together,  and 
it  has  been  decreed  that  we  work  with  the 
women  and  children  in  dragging  in  the  meat 
and  tending  the  wants  of  the  hunters/ 

" c  And  this  is  very  wrong/  I  made  to 
answer ;  c  for  we  be  better  men,  Moosu,  than 
these  people  who  walk  in  darkness.  Further, 
we  should  rest  and  grow  strong,  for  the  way 
south  is  long,  and  on  that  trail  the  weak 
cannot  prosper/ 

" c  But  we  have  nothing/  he  objected,  look 
ing  about  him  at  the  rotten  timbers  of  the 
igloo,  the  stench  of  the  ancient  walrus  meat 
that  had  been  our  supper  disgusting  his 
nostrils.  c  And  on  this  fare  we  cannot  thrive. 
We  have  nothing  save  the  bottle  of  "pain 
killer,"  which  will  not  fill  emptiness,  so  we 
must  bend  to  the  yoke  of  the  unbeliever  and 
become  hewers  of  wood  and  drawers  of  water. 
And  there  be  good  things  in  this  place,  the 
which  we  may  not  have.  Ah,  master,  never 
has  my  nose  lied  to  me,  and  I  have  followed 


A    HYPERBOREAN    BREW  35 

it  to  secret  caches  and  among  the  fur-bales  of 
the  igloos.  Good  provender  did  these  people 
extort  from  the  poor  whalemen,  and  this  prov 
ender  has  wandered  into  few  hands.  The 
woman  Ipsukuk,  who  dwelleth  in  the  far  end 
of  the  village  next  the  igloo  of  the  chief,  pos- 
sesseth  much  flour  and  sugar,  and  even  have 
my  eyes  told  me  of  molasses  smeared  on  her 
face.  And  in  the  igloo  of  Tummasook,  the 
chief,  there  be  tea  —  have  I  not  seen  the  old 
pig  guzzling  ?  And  the  shaman  owneth  a 
caddy  of  "Star"  and  two  buckets  of  prime 
smoking.  And  what  have  we  ?  Nothing  ! 
Nothing!  Nothing!  ' 

"  But  I  was  stunned  by  the  word  he  brought 
of  the  tobacco,  and  made  no  answer. 

"  And  Moosu,  what  of  his  own  desire, 
broke  silence :  c  And  there  be  Tukeliketa, 
daughter  of  a  big  hunter  and  wealthy  man. 
A  likely  girl.  Indeed,  a  very  nice  girl/ 

"  I  figured  hard  during  the  night  while 
Moosu  snored,  for  I  could  not  bear  the 
thought  of  the  tobacco  so  near  which  I  could 
not  smoke.  True,  as  he  had  said,  we  had 


36  A    HYPERBOREAN    BREW 

nothing.  But  the  way  became  clear  to  me, 
and  in  the  morning  I  said  to  him :  (  Go  thou 
cunningly  abroad,  after  thy  fashion,  and  pro 
cure  me  some  sort  of  bone,  crooked  like  a 
gooseneck,  and  hollow.  Also,  walk  humbly, 
but  have  eyes  awake  to  the  lay  of  pots  and 
pans  and  cooking  contrivances.  And  remem 
ber,  mine  is  the  white  man's  wisdom,  and  do 
what  I  have  bid  you,  with  sureness  and 
despatch.' 

"While  he  was  away  I  placed  the  whale- 
oil  cooking  lamp  in  the  middle  of  the  igloo, 
and  moved  the  mangy  sleeping  furs  back  that 
I  might  have  room.  Then  I  took  apart  his 
gun  and  put  the  barrel  by  handy,  and  after 
ward  braided  many  wicks  from  the  cotton 
that  the  women  gather  wild  in  the  summer. 
When  he  came  back,  it  was  with  the  bone  I 
had  commanded,  and  with  news  that  in  the 
igloo  of  Tummasook  there  was  a  five-gallon 
kerosene  can  and  a  big  copper  kettle.  So  I 
said  he  had  done  well  and  we  would  tarry 
through  the  day.  And  when  midnight  was 
near  I  made  harangue  to  him. 


A    HYPERBOREAN    BREW  37 

" c  This  chief,  this  Tummasook,  hath  a 
copper  kettle,  likewise  a  kerosene  can/  I 
put  a  rock,  smooth  and  wave-washed,  in 
Moosu's  hand.  c  The  camp  is  hushed  and 
the  stars  are  winking.  Go  thou,  creep  into 
the  chief's  igloo  softly,  and  smite  him  thus 
upon  the  belly,  and  hard.  And  let  the  meat 
and  good  grub  of  the  days  to  come  put 
strength  into  thine  arm.  There  will  be  up 
roar  and  outcry,  and  the  village  will  come  hot 
afoot.  But  be  thou  unafraid.  Veil  thy  move 
ments  and  lose  thy  form  in  the  obscurity  of 
the  night  and  the  confusion  of  men.  And 
when  the  woman  Ipsukuk  is  anigh  thee,  — 
she  who  smeareth  her  face  with  molasses, 
—  do  thou  smite  her  likewise,  and  whosoever 
else  that  possesseth  flour  and  cometh  to  thy 
hand.  Then  do  thou  lift  thy  voice  in  pain 
and  double  up  with  clasped  hands,  and  make 
outcry  in  token  that  thou,  too,  hast  felt  the 
visitation  of  the  night.  And  in  this  way 
shall  we  achieve  honor  and  great  possessions, 
and  the  caddy  of  "  Star  "  and  the  prime  smok 
ing,  and  thy  Tukeliketa,  who  is  a  likely  maiden/ 


38  A    HYPERBOREAN   BREW 

"  When  he  had  departed  on  this  errand,  I 
bided  patiently  in  the  shack,  and  the  tobacco 
seemed  very  near.  Then  there  was  a  cry  of 
affright  in  the  night,  that  became  an  uproar 
and  assailed  the  sky.  I  seized  the  c  pain 
killer1  and  ran  forth.  There  was  much  noise, 
and  a  wailing  among  the  women,  and  fear  sat 
heavily  on  all.  Tummasook  and  the  woman 
Ipsukuk  rolled  on  the  ground  in  pain,  and 
with  them  there  were  divers  others,  also 
Moosu.  I  thrust  aside  those  that  cluttered 
the  way  of  my  feet,  and  put  the  mouth  of  the 
bottle  to  Moosu's  lips.  And  straightway  he 
became  well  and  ceased  his  howling.  Whereat 
there  was  a  great  clamor  for  the  bottle  from 
the  others  so  stricken.  But  I  made  harangue, 
and  ere  they  tasted  and  were  made  well  I  had 
mulcted  Tummasook  of  his  copper  kettle  and 
kerosene  can,  and  the  woman  Ipsukuk  of  her 
sugar  and  molasses,  and  the  other  sick  ones 
of  goodly  measures  of  flour.  The  shaman 
glowered  wickedly  at  the  people  around  my 
knees,  though  he  poorly  concealed  the  wonder 
that  lay  beneath.  But  I  held  my  head  high, 


A    HYPERBOREAN    BREW  39 

and  Moosu  groaned  beneath  the  loot  as  he 
followed  my  heels  to  the  shack. 

"  There  I  set  to  work.  In  Tummasook's 
copper  kettle  I  mixed  three  quarts  of  wheat 
flour  with  five  of  molasses,  and  to  this  I  added 
of  water  twenty  quarts.  Then  I  placed  the 
kettle  near  the  lamp,  that  it  might  sour  in 
the  warmth  and  grow  strong.  Moosu  under 
stood,  and  said  my  wisdom  passed  understand 
ing  and  was  greater  than  Solomon's,  who  he 
had  heard  was  a  wise  man  of  old  time.  The 
kerosene  can  I  set  over  the  lamp,  and  to  its 
nose  I  affixed  a  snout,  and  into  the  snout 
the  bone  that  was  like  a  gooseneck.  I  sent 
Moosu  without  to  pound  ice,  while  I  con 
nected  the  barrel  of  his  gun  with  the  goose 
neck,  and  midway  on  the  barrel  I  piled  the 
ice  he  had  pounded.  And  at  the  far  end  of 
the  gun  barrel,  beyond  the  pan  of  ice,  I  placed 
a  small  iron  pot.  When  the  brew  was  strong 
enough  (and  it  was  two  days  ere  it  could  stand 
on  its  own  legs),  I  filled  the  kerosene  can  with 
it,  and  lighted  the  wicks  I  had  braided. 

"  Now  that  all  was  ready,  I  spoke  to  Moosu. 


40  A    HYPERBOREAN    BREW 

(  Go  forth,'  I  said,  c  to  the  chief  men  of  the 
village,  and  give  them  greeting,  and  bid  them 
come  into  my  igloo  and  sleep  the  night  away 
with  me  and  the  gods.' 

"  The  brew  was  singing  merrily  when  they 
began  shoving  aside  the  skin  flap  and  crawling 
in,  and  I  was  heaping  cracked  ice  on  the  gun 
barrel.  Out  of  the  priming  hole  at  the  far 
end,  drip,  drip,  drip  into  the  iron  pot  fell  the 
liquor  —  hooch,  you  know.  But  they'd  never 
seen  the  like,  and  giggled  nervously  when  I 
made  harangue  about  its  virtues.  As  I  talked 
I  noted  the  jealousy  in  the  shaman's  eye,  so 
when  I  had  done,  I  placed  him  side  by  side 
with  Tummasook  and  the  woman  Ipsukuk. 
Then  I  gave  them  to  drink,  and  their  eyes 
watered  and  their  stomachs  warmed,  till  from 
being  afraid  they  reached  greedily  for  more ; 
and  when  I  had  them  well  started,  I  turned  to 
the  others.  Tummasook  made  a  brag  about 
how  he  had  once  killed  a  polar  bear,  and  in 
the  vigor  of  his  pantomime  nearly  slew  his 
mother's  brother.  But  nobody  heeded.  The 
woman  Ipsukuk  fell  to  weeping  for  a  son  lost 


A    HYPERBOREAN    BREW  41 

long  years  agone  in  the  ice,  and  the  shaman 
made  incantation  and  prophecy.  So  it  went, 
and  before  morning  they  were  all  on  the  floor, 
sleeping  soundly  with  the  gods. 

"  The  story  tells  itself,  does  it  not  ?  The 
news  of  the  magic « potion  spread.  It  was  too 
marvellous  for  utterance.  Tongues  could  tell 
but  a  tithe  of  the  miracles  it  performed.  It 
eased  pain,  gave  surcease  to  sorrow,  brought 
back  old  memories,  dead  faces,  and  forgotten 
dreams.  It  was  a  fire  that  ate  through  all 
the  blood,  and,  burning,  burned  not.  It 
stoutened  the  heart,  stiffened  the  back,  and 
made  men  more  than  men.  It  revealed  the 
future,  and  gave  visions  and  prophecy.  It 
brimmed  with  wisdom  and  unfolded  secrets. 
There  was  no  end  of  the  things  it  could  do, 
and  soon  there  was  a  clamoring  on  all  hands 
to  sleep  with  the  gods.  They  brought  their 
warmest  furs,  their  strongest  dogs,  their  best 
meats ;  but  I  sold  the  hooch  with  discretion, 
and  only  those  were  favored  that  brought  flour 
and  molasses  and  sugar.  And  such  stores 
poured  in  that  I  set  Moosu  to  build  a  cache 


42  A    HYPERBOREAN    BREW 

to  hold  them,  for  there  was  soon  no  space  in 
the  igloo.  Ere  three  days  had  passed  Tum- 
masook  had  gone  bankrupt.  The  shaman, 
who  was  never  more  than  half  drunk  after  the 
first  night,  watched  me  closely  and  hung  on 
for  the  better  part  of  the  week.  But  before 
ten  days  were  gone  even  the  woman  Ipsukuk 
exhausted  her  provisions,  and  went  home  weak 
and  tottery. 

"  But  Moosu  complained.  c  O  master/ 
he  said,  cwe  have  laid  by  great  wealth  in 
molasses  and  sugar  and  flour,  but  our  shack  is 
yet  mean,  our  clothes  thin,  and  our  sleeping 
furs  mangy.  There  is  a  call  of  the  belly  for 
meat  the  stench  of  which  offends  not  the  stars, 
and  for  tea  such  as  Tummasook  guzzles,  and 
there  is  a  great  yearning  for  the  tobacco  of 
Neewak,  who  is  shaman  and  who  plans  to 
destroy  us.  I  have  flour  until  I  am  sick,  and 
sugar  and  molasses  without  stint,  yet  is  the 
heart  of  Moosu  sore  and  his  bed  empty/ 

"  c  Peace  ! '  I  answered,  ( thou  art  weak  of 
understanding  and  a  fool.  Walk  softly  and 
wait,  and  we  will  grasp  it  all.  But  grasp  now, 


A   HYPERBOREAN   BREW  43 

and  we  grasp  little,  and  in  the  end  it  will  be 
nothing.  Thou  art  a  child  in  the  way  of  the 
white  man's  wisdom.  Hold  thy  tongue  and 
watch,  and  I  will  show  you  the  way  my 
brothers  do  overseas,  and,  so  doing,  gather 
to  themselves  the  riches  of  the  earth.  It 
is  what  is  called  "business,"  and  what  dost 
thou  know  about  business  ? ' 

"  But  the  next  day  he  came  in  breathless. 
c  O  master,  a  strange  thing  happeneth  in  the 
igloo  of  Neewak,  the  shaman ;  wherefore  we 
are  lost,  and  we  have  neither  worn  the  warm 
furs  nor  tasted  the  good  tobacco,  what  of  your 
madness  for  the  molasses  and  flour.  Go  thou 
and  witness  whilst  I  watch  by  the  brew.1 

"  So  I  went  to  the  igloo  of  Neewak.  And 
behold,  he  had  made  his  own  still,  fashioned 
cunningly  after  mine.  And  as  he  beheld  me 
he  could  ill  conceal  his  triumph.  For  he  was 
a  man  of  parts,  and  his  sleep  with  the  gods 
when  in  my  igloo  had  not  been  sound. 

"  But  I  was  not  disturbed,  for  I  knew  what 
I  knew,  and  when  I  returned  to  my  own  igloo, 
I  descanted  to  Moosu  and  said :  c  Happily  the 


44  A    HYPERBOREAN    BREW 

property  right  obtains  amongst  this  people, 
who  otherwise  have  been  blessed  with  but  few 
of  the  institutions  of  men.  And  because  of 
this  respect  for  property  shall  you  and  I  wax 
fat,  and,  further,  we  shall  introduce  amongst 
them  new  institutions  that  other  peoples 
have  worked  out  through  great  travail  and 
suffering/ 

"  But  Moosu  understood  dimly,  till  the 
shaman  came  forth,  with  eyes  flashing  and  a 
threatening  note  in  his  voice,  and  demanded 
to  trade  with  me.  c  For  look  you,'  he  cried, 
c  there  be  of  flour  and  molasses  none  in  all  the 
village.  The  like  have  you  gathered  with  a 
shrewd  hand  from  my  people,  who  have  slept 
with  your  gods  and  who  now  have  nothing 
save  large  heads,  and  weak  knees,  and  a 
thirst  for  cold  water  that  they  cannot  quench. 
This  is  not  good,  and  my  voice  has  power 
among  them ;  so  it  were  well  that  we  trade, 
you  and  I,  even  as  you  have  traded  with  them, 
for  molasses  and  flour/ 

"  And  I  made  answer  :  c  This  be  good  talk, 
and  wisdom  abideth  in  thy  mouth.  We  will 


A    HYPERBOREAN    BREW  45 

trade.  For  this  much  of  flour  and  molasses 
givest  thou  me  the  caddy  of  "  Star "  and  the 
two  buckets  of  smoking/ 

"And  Moosu  groaned,  and  when  the 
trade  was  made  and  the  shaman  departed, 
he  upbraided  me :  c  Now,  because  of  thy 
madness,  are  we,  indeed,  lost !  Neewak  mak- 
eth  hooch  on  his  own  account,  and  when 
the  time  is  ripe,  he  will  command  the  people 
to  drink  of  no  hooch  but  his  hooch.  And  in 
this  way  are  we  undone,  and  our  goods  worth 
less,  and  our  igloo  mean,  and  the  bed  of 
Moosu  cold  and  empty  ! ' 

"  And  I  answered :  c  By  the  body  of  the 
wolf,  say  I,  thou  art  a  fool,  and  thy  fathers 
before  thee,  and  thy  children  after  thee,  down 
to  the  last  generation.  Thy  wisdom  is  worse 
than  no  wisdom  and  thine  eyes  blinded  to 
business,  of  which  I  have  spoken  and  whereof 
thou  knowest  nothing.  Go,  thou  son  of  a 
thousand  fools,  and  drink  of  the  hooch  that 
Neewak  brews  in  his  igloo,  and  thank  thy 
gods  that  thou  hast  a  white  man's  wisdom  to 
make  soft  the  bed  thou  liest  in.  Go !  and 


46  A    HYPERBOREAN    BREW 

when  thou  hast  drunken,  return  with  the  taste 
still  on  thy  lips,  that  I  may  know.' 

"  And  two  days  after,  Neewak  sent  greeting 
and  invitation  to  his  igloo.  Moosu  went,  but 
I  sat  alone,  with  the  song  of  the  still  in  my 
ears,  and  the  air  thick  with  the  shaman's 
tobacco ;  for  trade  was  slack  that  night,  and 
no  one  dropped  in  but  Angeit,  a  young  hunter 
that  had  faith  in  me.  Later,  Moosu  came 
back,  his  speech  thick  with  chuckling  and  his 
eyes  wrinkling  with  laughter. 

"  c  Thou  art  a  great  man/  he  said.  c  Thou 
art  a  great  man,  O  master,  and  because  of  thy 
greatness  thou  wilt  not  condemn  Moosu,  thy 
servant,  who  ofttimes  doubts  and  cannot  be 
made  to  understand/ 

"  c  And  wherefore  now  ? '  I  demanded. 
c  Hast  thou  drunk  overmuch  ?  And  are  they 
sleeping  sound  in  the  igloo  of  Neewak,  the 
shaman  ? ' 

" (  Nay,  they  are  angered  and  sore  of  body, 
and  Chief  Tummasook  has  thrust  his  thumbs 
in  the  throat  of  Neewak,  and  sworn  by  the 
bones  of  his  ancestors  to  look  upon  his  face 


A   HYPERBOREAN   BREW  47 

no  more.  For  behold !  I  went  to  the  igloo, 
and  the  brew  simmered  and  bubbled,  and  the 
steam  journeyed  through  the  gooseneck  even 
as  thy  steam,  and  even  as  thine  it  became 
water  where  it  met  the  ice,  and  dropped  into 
the  pot  at  the  far  end.  And  Neewak  gave  us 
to  drink,  and  lo,  it  was  not  like  thine,  for  there 
was  no  bite  to  the  tongue  nor  tingling  to  the 
eyeballs,  and  of  a  truth  it  was  water.  So  we 
drank,  and  we  drank  overmuch ;  yet  did  we 
sit  with  cold  hearts  and  solemn.  And  Neewak 
was  perplexed  and  a  cloud  came  on  his  brow. 
And  he  took  Tummasook  and  Ipsukuk  alone 
of  all  the  company  and  sat  them  apart,  and 
bade  them  drink  and  drink  and  drink.  And 
they  drank  and  drank  and  drank,  and  yet  sat 
solemn  and  cold,  till  Tummasook  arose  in 
wrath  and  demanded  back  the  furs  and  the  tea 
he  had  paid.  And  Ipsukuk  raised  her  voice, 
thin  and  angry.  And  the  company  demanded 
back  what  they  had  given,  and  there  was  a 
great  commotion/ 

"  (  Does  the  son  of  a  dog  deem  me  a  whale  ? ' 
demanded  Tummasook,  shoving  back  the  skin 


48  A    HYPERBOREAN    BREW 

flap  and  standing  erect,  his  face  black  and  his 
brows  angry. 

ccc  Wherefore  I  am  filled,  like  a  fish-blad 
der,  to  bursting,  till  I  can  scarce  walk,  what 
of  the  weight  within  me  ?  Lalah !  I  have 
drunken  as  never  before,  yet  are  my  eyes 
clear,  my  knees  strong,  my  hand  steady/ 

cc  c  The  shaman  cannot  send  us  to  sleep  with 
the  gods/  the  people  complained,  stringing  in 
and  joining  us,  c  and  only  in  thy  igloo  may 
the  thing  be  done/ 

"  So  I  laughed  to  myself  as  I  passed  the 
hooch  around  and  the  guests  made  merry. 
For  in  the  flour  I  had  traded  to  Neewak  I 
had  mixed  much  soda  that  I  had  got  from 
the  woman  Ipsukuk.  So  how  could  his  brew 
ferment  when  the  soda  kept  it  sweet  ?  Or  his 
hooch  be  hooch  when  it  would  not  sour  ? 

cc  After  that  our  wealth  flowed  in  without 
let  or  hindrance.  Furs  we  had  without  num 
ber,  and  the  fancy  work  of  the  women,  all  of 
the  chief's  tea,  and  no  end  of  meat.  One  day 
Moosu  retold  for  my  benefit,  and  sadly 
mangled,  the  story  of  Joseph  in  Egypt,  but 


A    HYPERBOREAN    BREW  49 

from  it  I  got  an  idea,  and  soon  I  had  half  the 
tribe  at  work  building  me  great  meat  caches. 
And  of  all  they  hunted  I  got  the  lion's  share 
and  stored  it  away.  Nor  was  Moosu  idle.  He 
made  himself  a  pack  of  cards  from  birch  bark, 
and  taught  Neewak  the  way  to  play  seven-up. 
He  also  inveigled  the  father  of  Tukeliketa 
into  the  game.  And  one  day  he  married  the 
maiden,  and  the  next  day  he  moved  into 
the  shaman's  house,  which  was  the  finest 
in  the  village.  The  fall  of  Neewak  was  com 
plete,  for  he  lost  all  his  possessions,  his 
walrus-hide  drums,  his  incantation  tools  — 
everything.  And  in  the  end  he  became  a 
hewer  of  wood  and  drawer  of  water  at  the 
beck  and  call  of  Moosu.  And  Moosu  —  he 
set  himself  up  as  shaman,  or  high  priest,  and 
out  of  his  garbled  Scripture  created  new  gods 
and  made  incantation  before  strange  altars. 

<c  And  I  was  well  pleased,  for  I  thought  it 
good  that  church  and  state  go  hand  in  hand, 
and  I  had  certain  plans  of  my  own  concern 
ing  the  state.  Events  were  shaping  as  I  had 
foreseen.  Good  temper  and  smiling  faces 


50  A    HYPERBOREAN    BREW 

had  vanished  from  the  village.  The  people 
were  morose  and  sullen.  There  were  quarrels 
and  fighting,  and  things  were  in  an  uproar  night 
and  day.  Moosu's  cards  were  duplicated  and 
the  hunters  fell  to  gambling  among  themselves. 
Tummasook  beat  his  wife  horribly,  and  his 
mother's  brother  objected  and  smote  him  with 
a  tusk  of  walrus  till  he  cried  aloud  in  the 
night  and  was  shamed  before  the  people. 
Also,  amid  such  diversions  no  hunting  was 
done,  and  famine  fell  upon  the  land.  The 
nights  were  long  and  dark,  and  without  meat 
no  hooch  could  be  bought ;  so  they  murmured 
against  the  chief.  This  I  had  played  for,  and 
when  they  were  well  and  hungry,  I  summoned 
the  whole  village,  made  a  great  harangue, 
posed  as  patriarch,  and  fed  the  famishing. 
Moosu  made  harangue  likewise,  and  because 
of  this  and  the  thing  I  had  done  I  was  made 
chief.  Moosu,  who  had  the  ear  of  God  and 
decreed  his  judgments,  anointed  me  with 
whale  blubber,  and  right  blubberly  he  did  it, 
not  understanding  the  ceremony.  And  be 
tween  us  we  interpreted  to  the  people  the  new 


A    HYPERBOREAN    BREW  51 

theory  of  the  divine  right  of  kings.  There 
was  hooch  galore,  and  meat  and  feasting,  and 
they  took  kindly  to  the  new  order. 

"  So  you  see,  O  man,  I  have  sat  in  the 
high  places,  and  worn  the  purple,  and  ruled 
populations.  And  I  might  yet  be  a  king  had 
the  tobacco  held  out,  or  had  Moosu  been 
more  fool  and  less  knave.  For  he  cast  eyes 
upon  Esanetuk,  eldest  daughter  to  Tumma- 
sook,  and  I  objected. 

"  c  O  brother/  he  explained,  c  thou  hast  seen 
fit  to  speak  of  introducing  new  institutions 
amongst  this  people,  and  I  have  listened  to 
thy  words  and  gained  wisdom  thereby.  Thou 
rulest  by  the  God-given  right,  and  by  the 
God-given  right  I.  marry/ 

"  I  noted  that  he  c  brothered  '  me,  and  was 
angry  and  put  my  foot  down.  But  he  fell 
back  upon  the  people  and  made  incantations 
for  three  days,  in  which  all  hands  joined ;  and 
then,  speaking  with  the  voice  of  God,  he 
decreed  polygamy  by  divine  fiat.  But  he  was 
shrewd,  for  he  limited  the  number  of  wives  by 
a  property  qualification,  and  because  of  which 


52  A    HYPERBOREAN    BREW 

he,  above  all  men,  was  favored  by  his  wealth. 
Nor  could  I  fail  to  admire,  though  it  was 
plain  that  power  had  turned  his  head,  and  he 
would  not  be  satisfied  till  all  the  power  and 
all  the  wealth  rested  in  his  own  hands.  So 
he  became  swollen  with  pride,  forgot  it  was 
I  that  had  placed  him  there,  and  made  prepa 
rations  to  destroy  me. 

"  But  it  was  interesting,  for  the  beggar  was 
working  out  in  his  own  way  an  evolution  of 
primitive  society.  Now  I,  by  virtue  of  the 
hooch  monopoly,  drew  a  revenue  in  which  I  no 
longer  permitted  him  to  share.  So  he  medi 
tated  for  a  while  and  evolved  a  system  of 
ecclesiastical  taxation.  He  laid  tithes  upon 
the  people,  harangued  about  fat  firstlings  and 
such  things,  and  twisted  whatever  twisted  texts 
he  had  ever  heard  to  serve  his  purpose.  Even 
this  I  bore  in  silence,  but  when  he  instituted 
what  may  be  likened  to  a  graduated  income  tax, 
I  rebelled,  and  blindly,  for  this  was  what  he 
worked  for.  Thereat,  he  appealed  to  the 
people,  and  they,  envious  of  my  great  wealth 
and  well  taxed  themselves,  upheld  him. 


A    HYPERBOREAN    BREW  53 

c  Why  should  we  pay,'  they  asked,  c  and  not 
you  ?  Does  not  the  voice  of  God  speak 
through  the  lips  of  Moosu,  the  shaman  ? ' 
So  I  yielded.  But  at  the  same  time  I  raised 
the  price  of  hooch,  and  lo,  he  was  not  a  whit 
behind  me  in  raising  my  taxes. 

cc  Then  there  was  open  war.  I  made  a  play 
for  Neewak  and  Tummasook,  because  of  the 
traditionary  rights  they  possessed ;  but  Moosu 
won  out  by  creating  a  priesthood  and  giving 
them  both  high  office.  The  problem  of 
authority  presented  itself  to  him,  and  he 
worked  it  out  as  it  has  often  been  worked 
before.  There  was  my  mistake.  I  should 
have  been  made  shaman,  and  he  chief;  but  I 
saw  it  too  late,  and  in  the  clash  of  spiritual 
and  temporal  power  I  was  bound  to  be 
worsted.  A  great  controversy  waged,  but  it 
quickly  became  one-sided.  The  people  re 
membered  that  he  had  anointed  me,  and  it 
was  clear  to  them  that  the  source  of  my 
authority  lay,  not  in  me,  but  in  Moosu.  Only 
a  few  faithful  ones  clung  to  me,  chief  among 
whom  Angeit  was  ;  while  he  headed  the  popu  - 


54  A    HYPERBOREAN    BREW 

lar  party  and  set  whispers  afloat  that  I  had  it 
in  mind  to  overthrow  him  and  set  up  my 
own  gods,  which  were  most  unrighteous  gods. 
And  in  this  the  clever  rascal  had  anticipated 
me,  for  it  was  just  what  I  had  intended  — 
forsake  my  kingship,  you  see,  and  fight  spirit 
ual  with  spiritual.  So  he  frightened  the  people 
with  the  iniquities  of  my  peculiar  gods  —  espe 
cially  the  one  he  named  c  Biz-e-Nass  *  —  and 
nipped  the  scheme  in  the  bud. 

"  Now,  it  happened  that  Kluktu,  youngest 
daughter  to  Tummasook,  had  caught  my  fancy, 
and  I  likewise  hers.  So  I  made  overtures, 
but  the  ex-chief  refused  bluntly  —  after  I  had 
paid  the  purchase  price  —  and  informed  me 
that  she  was  set  aside  for  Moosu.  This  was 
too  much,  and  I  was  half  of  a  mind  to  go  to  his 
igloo  and  slay  him  with  my  naked  hands ;  but 
I  recollected  that  the  tobacco  was  near  gone, 
and  went  home  laughing.  The  next  day  he 
made  incantation,  and  distorted  the  miracle  of 
the  loaves  and  fishes  till  it  became  prophecy, 
and  I,  reading  between  the  lines,  saw  that  it 
was  aimed  at  the  wealth  of  meat  stored  in 


A    HYPERBOREAN    BREW  55 

my  caches.  The  people  also  read  between  the 
lines,  and,  as  he  did  not  urge  them  to  go  on 
the  hunt,  they  remained  at  home,  and  few  cari 
bou  or  bear  were  brought  in. 

"  But  I  had  plans  of  my  own,  seeing  that 
not  only  the  tobacco  but  the  flour  and 
molasses  were  near  gone.  And  further,  I 
felt  it  my  duty  to  prove  the  white  man's 
wisdom  and  bring  sore  distress  to  Moosu, 
who  had  waxed  high-stomached,  what  of  the 
power  I  had  given  him.  So  that  night  I  went 
to  my  meat  caches  and  toiled  mightily,  and  it 
was  noted  next  day  that  all  the  dogs  of  the 
village  were  lazy.  No  one  suspected,  and  I 
toiled  thus  every  night,  and  the  dogs  grew 
fat  and  fatter,  and  the  people  lean  and  leaner. 
They  grumbled  and  demanded  the  fulfilment 
of  prophecy,  but  Moosu  restrained  them, 
waiting  for  their  hunger  to  grow  yet  greater. 
Nor  did  he  dream,  to  the  very  last,  of  the 
trick  I  had  been  playing  on  the  empty  caches. 

"When  all  was  ready,  I  sent  Angeit,  and 
the  faithful  ones  whom  I  had  fed  privily, 
through  the  village  to  call  assembly.  And 


56  A    HYPERBOREAN    BREW 

the  tribe  gathered  on  a  great  space  of  beaten 
snow  before  my  door,  with  the  meat  caches 
towering  stilt-legged  in  the  rear.  Moosu 
came  also,  standing  on  the  inner  edge  of  the 
circle  opposite  me,  confident  that  I  had  some 
scheme  afoot,  and  prepared  at  the  first  break 
to  down  me.  But  I  arose,  giving  him  saluta 
tion  before  all  men. 

" c  O  Moosu,  thou  blessed  of  God/  I  began-, 
c  doubtless  thou  hast  wondered  in  that  I  have 
called  this  convocation  together ;  and  doubt 
less,  because  of  my  many  foolishnesses,  art 
thou  prepared  for  rash  sayings  and  rash 
doings.  Not  so.  It  has  been  said,  that 
those  the  gods  would  destroy  they  first  make 
mad.  And  I  have  been  indeed  mad.  I  have 
crossed  thy  will,  and  scoffed  at  thy  authority, 
and  done  divers  evil  and  wanton  things. 
Wherefore,  last  night  a  vision  was  vouchsafed 
me,  and  I  have  seen  the  wickedness  of  my 
ways.  And  thou  stoodst  forth  like  a  shining 
star,  with  brows  aflame,  and  I  knew  in  mine 
own  heart  thy  greatness.  I  saw  all  things 
clearly.  I  knew  that  thou  didst  command  the 


A    HYPERBOREAN    BREW  57 

ear  of  God,  and  that  when  you  spoke  he  lis 
tened.  And  I  remembered  that  whatever  of 
the  good  deeds  that  I  had  done,  I  had  done 
through  the  grace  of  God,  and  the  grace  of 
Moosu. 

" c  Yes,  my  children/  I  cried,  turning  to  the 
people,  c  whatever  right  I  have  done,  and 
whatever  good  I  have  done,  have  been  because 
of  the  counsel  of  Moosu.  When  I  listened 
to  him,  affairs  prospered ;  when  I  closed  my 
ears,  and  acted  according  to  my  folly,  things 
came  to  folly.  By  his  advice  it  was  that  I  laid 
my  store  of  meat,  and  in  time  of  darkness  fed 
the  famishing.  By  his  grace  it  was  that  I 
was  made  chief.  And  what  have  I  done  with 
my  chiefship  ?  Let  me  tell  you.  I  have 
done  nothing,  My  head  was  turned  with 
power,  and  I  deemed  myself  greater  than 
Moosu,  and,  behold,  I  have  come  to  grief. 
My  rule  has  been  unwise,  and  the  gods  are 
angered.  Lo,  ye  are  pinched  with  famine, 
and  the  mothers  are  dry-breasted,  and  the 
little  babies  cry  through  the  long  nights.  Nor 
do  I,  who  have  hardened  my  heart  against 


58  A   HYPERBOREAN   BREW 

Moosu,  know  what  shall  be  done,  nor  in  what 
manner  of  way  grub  shall  be  had.' 

"At  this  there  was  nodding  and  laughing, 
and  the  people  put  their  heads  together  and 
I  knew  they  whispered  of  the  loaves  and 
fishes.  I  went  on  hastily.  c  So  I  was  made 
aware  of  my  foolishness  and  of  Moosu's  wis 
dom  ;  of  my  own  unfitness  and  of  Moosu's 
fitness.  And  because  of  this,  being  no  longer 
mad,  I  make  acknowledgment  and  rectify 
evil.  I  did  cast  unrighteous  eyes  upon 
Kluktu,  and  lo,  she  was  sealed  to  Moosu. 
Yet  is  she  mine,  for  did  I  not  pay  to  Tumma- 
sook  the  goods  of  purchase  ?  But  I  am  well 
unworthy  of  her,  and  she  shall  go  from  the 
igloo  of  her  father  to  the  igloo  of  Moosu. 
Can  the  moon  shine  in  the  sunshine  ?  And 
further,  Tummasook  shall  keep  the  goods  of 
purchase,  and  she  be  a  free  gift  to  Moosu, 
whom  God  hath  ordained  her  rightful  lord. 

" f  And  further  yet,  because  I  have  used  my 
wealth  unwisely,  and  to  oppress  ye,  O  my 
children,  do  I  make  gifts  of  the  kerosene 
can  to  Moosu,  and  the  gooseneck,  and  the  gun 


A    HYPERBOREAN    BREW  59 

barrel,  and  the  copper  kettle.  Therefore,  I 
can  gather  to  me  no  more  possessions,  and 
when  ye  are  athirst  for  hooch,  he  will  quench 
ye  and  without  robbery.  For  he  is  a  great 
man,  and  God  speaketh  through  his  lips. 

"'And  yet  further,  my  heart  is  softened, 
and  I  have  repented  me  of  my  madness.  I, 
who  am  a  fool  and  a  son  of  fools ;  I,  who  am 
the  slave  of  the  bad  god  Biz-e-Nass  ;  I,  who 
see  thy  empty  bellies  and  know  not  wherewith 
to  fill  them  —  why  shall  I  be  chief,  and  sit 
above  thee,  and  rule  to  thine  own  destruction  ? 
Why  should  I  do  this,  which  is  not  good  ? 
But  Moosu,  who  is  shaman,  and  who  is  wise 
above  men,  is  so  made  that  he  can  rule  with 
a  soft  hand  and  justly.  And  because  of  the 
things  I  have  related  do  I  make  abdication 
and  give  my  chiefship  to  Moosu,  who  alone 
knoweth  how  ye  may  be  fed  in  this  day  when 
there  be  no  meat  in  the  land/ 

"  At  this  there  was  a  great  clapping  of  hands, 
and  the  people  cried,  f  Kloshe  !  Kloshe  !  '  which 
means,  c  good/  I  had  seen  the  wonder-worry 
in  Moosu's  eyes ;  for  he  could  not  understand, 


60  A    HYPERBOREAN    BREW 

and  was  fearful  of  my  white  man's  wisdom.  I 
had  met  his  wishes  all  along  the  line,  and  even 
anticipated  some ;  and  standing  there,  self- 
shorn  of  all  my  power,  he  knew  the  time  did 
not  favor  to  stir  the  people  against  mer 

"  Before  they  could  disperse  I  made  an 
nouncement  that  while  the  still  went  to  Moosu, 
whatever  hooch  I  possessed  went  to  the  peo 
ple.  Moosu  tried  to  protest  at  this,  for  never 
had  we  permitted  more  than  a  handful  to  be 
drunk  at  a  time ;  but  they  cried,  c  Kloshe ! 
Kloshe ! '  and  made  festival  before  my  door. 
And  while  they  waxed  uproarious  without,  as 
the  liquor  went  to  their  heads,  I  held  council 
within  with  Angeit  and  the  faithful  ones.  I 
set  them-  the  tasks  they  were  to  do,  and  put 
into  their  mouths  the  words  they  were  to  say. 
Then  I  slipped  away  to  a  place  back  in  the 
woods  where  I  had  two  sleds,  well  loaded,  with 
teams  of  dogs  that  were  not  overfed.  Spring 
was  at  hand,  you  see,  and  there  was  a  crust  to 
the  snow ;  so  it  was  the  best  time  to  take  the 
way  south.  Moreover,  the  tobacco  was  gone. 
There  I  waited,  for  I  had  nothing  to  fear. 


A    HYPERBOREAN    BREW  61 

Did  they  bestir  themselves  on  my  trail,  their 
dogs  were  too  fat,  and  themselves  too  lean,  to 
overtake  me ;  also,  I  deemed  their  bestirring 
would  be  of  an  order  for  which  I  had  made 
due  preparation. 

"  First  came  a  faithful  one,  running,  and 
after  him  another.  c  O  master/  the  first  cried 
breathless,  ( there  be  great  confusion  in  the 
village,  and  no  man  knoweth  his  own  mind, 
and  they  be  of  many  minds.  Everybody  hath 
drunken  overmuch,  and  some  be  stringing 
bows,  and  some  be  quarrelling  one  with  an 
other.  Never  was  there  such  a  trouble.' 

"And  the  second  one:  cAnd  I  did  as  thou 
biddest,  O  master,  whispering  shrewd  words 
in  thirsty  ears,  and  raising  memories  of  the 
things  that  were  of  old  time.  The  woman 
Ipsukuk  waileth  her  poverty  and  the  wealth 
that  no  longer  is  hers.  And  Tummasook 
thinketh  himself  once  again  chief,  and  the 
people  are  hungry  and  rage  up  and  down/ 

"And  a  third  one:  'And  Neewak  hath 
overthrown  the  altars  of  Moosu,  and  maketh 
incantation  before  the  time-honored  and  an- 


62  A    HYPERBOREAN    BREW 

cient  gods.  And  all  the  people  remember  the 
wealth  that  ran  down  their  throats,  and  which 
they  possess  no  more.  And  first,  Esanetuk, 
who  be  sick  tumtum,  fought  with  Kluktu,  and 
there  was  much  noise.  And  next,  being 
daughters  of  the  one  mother,  did  they  fight 
with  Tukeliketa.  And  after  that  did  they 
three  fall  upon  Moosu,  like  wind-squalls,  from 
every  hand,  till  he  ran  forth  from  the  igloo, 
and  the  people  mocked  him.  For  a  man  who 
cannot  command  his  womankind  is  a  fool/ 

"  Then  came  Angeit:  £  Great  trouble  hath  be 
fallen  Moosu,  O  master,  for  I  have  whispered 
to  advantage,  till  the  people  came  to  Moosu, 
saying  they  were  hungry  and  demanding  the 
fulfilment  of  prophecy.  And  there  was  a  loud 
shout  of  "  Itlwillie  !  Itlwillie  !  "  (Meat.)  So 
he  cried  peace  to  his  womenfolk,  who  were 
overwrought  with  anger  and  with  hooch,  and 
led  the  tribe  even  to  thy  meat  caches.  And 
he  bade  the  men  open  them  and  be  fed.  And 
lo,  the  caches  were  empty.  There  was  no 
meat.  They  stood  without  sound,  the  people 
being  frightened,  and  in  the  silence  I  lifted  my 


A    HYPERBOREAN    BREW  63 

voice.  "  O  Moosu,  where  is  the  meat  ?  That 
there  was  meat  we  know.  Did  we  not  hunt 
it  and  drag  it  in  from  the  hunt  ?  And  it  were 
a  lie  to  say  one  man  hath  eaten  it;  yet  have 
we  seen  nor  hide  nor  hair.  Where  is  the 
meat,  O  Moosu  ?  Thou  hast  the  ear  of  God. 
Where  is  the  meat?" 

"cAnd  the  people  cried,  "Thou  hast  the 
ear  of  God.  Where  is  the  meat  ?  "  And  they 
put  their  heads  together  and  were  afraid. 
Then  I  went  among  them,  speaking  fear- 
somely  of  the  unknown  things,  of  the  dead 
that  come  and  go  like  shadows  and  do  evil 
deeds,  till  they  cried  aloud  in  terror  and 
gathered  all  together,  like  little  children  afraid 
of  the  dark.  Neewak  made  harangue,  laying 
this  evil  that  had  come  upon  them  at  the 
door  of  Moosu.  When  he  had  done,  there 
was  a  furious  commotion,  and  they  took 
spears  in  their  hands,  and  tusks  of  walrus, 
and  clubs,  and  stones  from  the  beach.  But 
Moosu  ran  away  home,  and  because  he  had 
not  drunken  of  hooch  they  could  not  catch 
him,  and  fell  one  over  another  and  made 


64  A    HYPERBOREAN    BREW 

haste  slowly.  Even  now  they  do  howl  with 
out  his  igloo,  and  his  womanfolk  within,  and 
what  of  the  noise,  he  cannot  make  himself 
heard/ 

" c  O  Angeit,  thou  hast  done  well/  I  com 
mended.  £  Go  now,  taking  this  empty  sled 
and  the  lean  dogs,  and  ride  fast  to  the  igloo 
of  Moosu ;  and  before  the  people,  who  are 
drunken,  are  aware,  throw  him  quick  upon 
the  sled  and  bring  him  to  me/ 

"  I  waited  and  gave  good  advice  to  the 
faithful  ones  till  Angeit  returned.  Moosu 
was  on  the  sled,  and  I  saw  by  the  fingermarks 
on  his  face  that  his  womankind  had  done  well 
by  him.  But  he  tumbled  off  and  fell  in  the 
snow  at  my  feet,  crying:  CO  master,  thou 
wilt  forgive  Moosu,  thy  servant,  for  the 
wrong  things  he  has  done !  Thou  art  a  great 
man  !  Surely  wilt  thou  forgive  ! ' 

"  c  Call  me  "  brother,"  Moosu  —  call  me 
"  brother," '  I  chided,  lifting  him  to  his  feet 
with  the  toe  of  my  moccasin.  cWilt  thou 
evermore  obey  ? ' 

"  c  Yea,  master/  he  whimpered,  c  evermore/ 


A    HYPERBOREAN    BREW  65 

" c  Then  dispose  thy  body,  so,  across  the 
sled.'  I  shifted  the  dogwhip  to  my  right 
hand.  c  And  direct  thy  face  downward, 
toward  the  snow.  And  make  haste,  for  we 
journey  south  this  day/  And  when  he  was 
well  fixed  I  laid  the  lash  upon  him,  reciting, 
at  every  stroke,  the  wrongs  he  had  done  me. 
'  This,  for  thy  disobedience  in  general  — 
whack !  And  this  for  thy  disobedience  in 
particular  —  whack  !  whack  !  And  this  for 
Esanetuk  !  And  this  for  thy  soul's  welfare ! 
And  this  for  the  grace  of  thy  authority  !  And 
this  for  Kluktu !  And  this  for  thy  rights 
God-given  !  And  this  for  thy  fat  firstlings ! 
And  this  and  this  for  thy  income  tax  and  thy 
loaves  and  fishes !  And  this  for  all  thy  dis 
obedience  !  And  this,  finally,  that  thou  mayest 
henceforth  walk  softly  and  with  understanding ! 
Now  cease  thy  sniffling  and  get  up  !  Gird  on 
thy  snowshoes  and  go  to  the  fore  and  break 
trail  for  the  dogs.  Chook  !  Mush-on  I  Git ! '  " 

Thomas  Stevens  smiled  quietly  to  himself 
as  he  lighted  his  fifth  cigar  and  sent  curling 
smoke-rings  ceilingward. 


66  A    HYPERBOREAN    BREW 

"  But  how  about  the  people  of  Tattarat  ?  " 
I  asked.  "  Kind  of  rough,  wasn't  it,  to  leave 
them  flat  with  famine  ?  " 

And  he  answered,  laughing,  between  two 
smoke-rings,  "  Were  there  not  the  fat  dogs  ?  " 


THE    FAITH    OF    MEN 


THE    FAITH    OF    MEN1 


"fTT-^ELL  you  what  we'll  do;  we'll  shake 
for  it." 

"  That  suits  me,"  said  the  second 
man,  turning,  as  he  spoke,  to  the  Indian 
that  was  mending  snowshoes  in  a  corner  of 
the  cabin.  "  Here,  you  Billebedam,  take 
a  run  down  to  Oleson's  cabin  like  a  good 
fellow  and  tell  him  we  want  to  borrow  his 
dice  box." 

This  sudden  request  in  the  midst  of  a  coun 
cil  on  wages  of  men,  wood,  and  grub  surprised 
Billebedam.  Besides,  it  was  early  in  the  day, 
and  he  had  never  known  white  men  of  the 
caliber  of  Pentfield  and  Hutchinson  to  dice 
and  play  till  the  day's  work  was  done.  But 
his  face  was  impassive  as  a  Yukon  Indian's 
should  be,  as  he  pulled  on  his  mittens  and 
went  out  the  door. 

1  Copyright,  1903,  by  The  Sunset  Magazine. 
69 


70  THE    FAITH    OF    MEN 

Though  eight  o'clock,  it  was  still  dark 
outside,  and  the  cabin  was  lighted  by  a  tallow 
candle  thrust  into  an  empty  whiskey  bottle. 
It  stood  on  the  pine  board  table  in  the  middle 
of  a  disarray  of  dirty  tin  dishes.  Tallow 
from  innumerable  candles  had  dripped  down 
the  long  neck  of  the  bottle  and  hardened 
into  a  miniature  glacier.  The  small  room, 
which  composed  the  entire  cabin,  was  as 
badly  littered  as  the  table.  While  at  one 
end,  against  the  wall,  were  two  bunks,  one 
above  the  other,  with  the  blankets  turned 
down  just  as  the  two  men  had  crawled  out  in 
the  morning. 

Lawrence  Pentfield  and  Corry  Hutchinson 
were  millionnaires,  though  they  did  not  look 
it.  There  seemed  nothing  unusual  about 
them,  while  they  would  have  passed  muster 
as  fair  specimens  of  lumbermen  in  any  Michi 
gan  camp.  But  outside,  in  the  darkness, 
where  holes  yawned  in  the  ground,  were  many 
men  engaged  in  windlassing  muck  and  gravel 
and  gold  from  the  bottoms  of  the  holes  where 
other  men  received  fifteen  dollars  per  day  for 


THE    FAITH    OF    MEN  71 

scraping  it  from  off  the  bedrock.  Each  day 
thousands  of  dollars'  worth  of  gold  were 
scraped  from  bedrock  and  windlassed  to  the 
surface,  and  it  all  belonged  to  Pentfield  and 
Hutchinson,  who  took  their  rank  among  the 
richest  kings  of  Bonanza. 

Pentfield  broke  the  silence  that  followed 
on  Billebedam's  departure  by  heaping  the 
dirty  plates  higher  on  the  table  and  drum 
ming  a  tattoo  on  the  cleared  space  with  his 
knuckles.  Hutchinson  snuffed  the  smoky 
candle  and  reflectively  rubbed  the  soot  from 
the  wick  between  thumb  and  forefinger. 

"  By  Jove,  I  wish  we  could  both  go  out!" 
he  abruptly  exclaimed.  "  That  would  settle 
it  all." 

Pentfield  looked  at  him  darkly. 

"  If  it  weren't  for  your  cursed  obstinacy, 
it'd  be  settled  anyway.  All  you  have  to  do 
is  get  up  and  get.  I'll  look  after  things, 
and  next  year  I  can  go  out." 

"  Why  should  I  go  ?  I've  no  one  waiting 
for  me — " 

"  Your  people,"  Pentfield  broke  in  roughly. 


72  THE   FAITH    OF    MEN 

"  Like    you    have,"    Hutchinson    went    on. 
"  A  girl,  I  mean,  and  you  know  it." 

Pentfield  shrugged  his  shoulders  gloomily. 
"  She  can  wait,  I  guess." 
"  But  she's  been  waiting  two  years  now." 
"  And  another  won't  age  her  beyond  recog 


nition." 


"  That'd  be  three  years.  Think  of  it,  old 
man,  three  years  in  this  end  of  the  e*arth,  this 
falling-off  place  for  the  damned  !  "  Hutchin 
son  threw  up  his  arm  in  an  almost  articulate 
groan. 

He  was  several  years  younger  than  his 
partner,  not  more  than  twenty-six,  and  there 
was  a  certain  wistfulness  in  his  face  that 
comes  into  the  faces  of  men  when  they  yearn 
vainly  for  the  things  they  have  been  long 
denied.  This  same  wistfulness  was  in  Pent- 
field's  face,  and  the  groan  of  it  was  articulate 
in  the  heave  of  his  shoulders. 

"  I  dreamed  last  night  I  was  in  Zin- 
kand's,"  he  said.  "  The  music  playing,  glasses 
clinking,  voices  humming,  women  laughing, 
and  I  was  ordering  eggs  —  yes,  sir,  eggs, 


THE   FAITH    OF    MEN  73 

fried  and  boiled  and  poached  and  scrambled, 
and  in  all  sorts  of  ways,  and  downing  them 
as  fast  as  they  arrived." 

"  I'd  have  ordered  salads  and  green  things/' 
Hutchinson  criticised  hungrily,  "  with  a  big, 
rare  porterhouse,  and  young  onions  and  rad 
ishes,  the  kind  your  teeth  sink  into  with  a 
crunch." 

"  I'd  have  followed  the  eggs  with  them, 
I  guess,  if  I  hadn't  awakened,"  Pentfield 
replied. 

He  picked  up  a  trail-scarred  banjo  from  the 
floor  and  began  to  strum  a  few  wandering  notes. 
Hutchinson  winced  and  breathed  heavily. 

"  Quit  it !  "  he  burst  out  with  sudden  fury, 
as  the  other  struck  into  a  gayly  lilting  swing. 
"  It  drives  me  mad.  I  can't  stand  it." 

Pentfield  tossed  the  banjo  into  a  bunk  and 
quoted  :  — 

"  Hear  me  babble  what  the  weakest  won't  confess  — 

I  am  Memory  and  Torment  —  I  am  Town  ! 
I  am  all  that  ever  went  with  evening  dress  ! " 

The  other  man  winced  where  he  sat  and 
dropped  his  head  forward  on  the  table.  Pent- 


74  THE   FAITH    OF   MEN 

field  resumed  the  monotonous  drumming  with 
his  knuckles.  A  loud  snap  from  the  door 
attracted  his  attention.  The  frost  was  creep 
ing  up  the  inside  in  a  white  sheet,  and  he 
began  to  hum  :  — 

"  The  flocks  are  folded,  boughs  are  bare, 

The  salmon  takes  the  sea  ;\ 
And  oh,  my  fair,  would  I  somewhere 
Might  house  my  heart  with'thee." 

Silence  fell  and  was  not  aga^n  broken  till 
Billebedam  arrived  and  threw  the  dice  box 
on  the  table. 

"  Um  much  cold,"  he  said.  "  Oleson  um 
speak  to  me,  um  say  um  Yukon  freeze  last 
night." 

"  Hear  that,  old  man  ! "  Pentfield  cried, 
slapping  Hutchinson  on  the  shoulder.  "  Who 
ever  wins  can  be  hitting  the  trail  for  God's 
country  this  time  to-morrow  morning !  " 

He  picked  up  the  box,  briskly  rattling  the 
dice. 

"  What'll  it  be  ?  " 

"  Straight  poker  dice,"  Hutchinson  an 
swered.  "  Go  on  and  roll  them  out." 


THE    FAITH    OF   MEN  75 

Pentfield  swept  the  dishes  from  the  table 
with  a  crash,  and  rolled  out  the  five  dice. 
Both  looked  eagerly.  The  shake  was  without 
a  pair  and  five-spot  high. 

"A  stiff!"  Pentfield  groaned. 

After  much  deliberating  Pentfield  picked 
up  all  the  five  dice  and  put  them  in  the 
box. 

"  I'd  shake  to  the  five  if  I  were  you/' 
Hutchinson  suggested. 

"  No,  you  wouldn't,  not  when  you  see  this," 
Pentfield  replied,  shaking  out  the  dice. 

Again  they  were  without  a  pair,  running  this 
time  in  unbroken  sequence  from  two  to  six. 

"A  second  stiff! "  he  groaned.  "No  use 
your  shaking,  Corry.  You  can't  lose." 

The  other  man  gathered  up  the  dice  with 
out  a  word,  rattled  them,  rolled  them  out 
on  the  table  with  a  flourish,  and  saw  that  he 
had  likewise  shaken  a  six-high  stiff. 

"  Tied  you,  anyway,  but  I'll  have  to  do 
better  than  that,"  he  said,  gathering  in  four 
of  them  and  shaking  to  the  six.  "  And 
here's  what  beats  you." 


76  THE    FAITH    OF   MEN 

But  they  rolled  out  deuce,  tray,  four,  and 
five,  —  a  stiff  still  and  no  better  nor  worse 
than  Pentfield's  throw. 

Hutchinson  sighed. 

"  Couldn't  happen  once  in  a  million  times/' 
he  said. 

"  Nor  in  a  million  lives,"  Pentfield  added, 
catching  up  the  dice  and  quickly  throwing 
them  out.  Three  fives  appeared,  and,  after 
much  delay,  he  was  rewarded  by  a  fourth 
five  on  the  second  shake.  Hutchinson  seemed 
to  have  lost  his  last  hope. 

But  three  sixes  turned  up  on  his  first  shake. 
A  great  doubt  rose  in  the  other's  eyes,  and 
hope  returned  into  his.  He  had  one  more 
shake.  Another  six  and  he  would  go  over 
the  ice  to  salt  water  and  the  states. 

He  rattled  the  dice  in  the  box,  made  as 
though  to  cast  them,  hesitated,  and  continued 
to  rattle  them. 

"  Go  on  !  Go  on  !  Don't  take  all  night 
about  it ! "  Pentfield  cried  sharply,  bending 
his  nails  on  the  table,  so  tight  was  the  clutch 
with  which  he  strove  to  control  himself. 


THE   FAITH   OF   MEN  77 

The  dice  rolled  forth,  an  upturned  six 
meeting  their  eyes.  Both  men  sat  staring  at 
it.  There  was  a  long  silence.  Hutchinson 
shot  a  covert  glance  at  his  partner,  who,  still 
more  covertly,  caught  it,  and  pursed  up  his 
lips  in  an  attempt  to  advertise  his  unconcern. 

Hutchinson  laughed  as  he  got  up  on  his 
feet.  It  was  a  nervous,  apprehensive  laugh. 
It  was  a  case  where  it  was  more  awkward  to 
win  than  lose.  He  walked  over  to  his  partner, 
who  whirled  upon  him  fiercely  :  — 

"  Now  you  just  shut  up,  Corry !  I  know 
all  you're  going  to  say  —  that  you'd  rather 
stay  in  and  let  me  go,  and  all  that ;  so  don't 
say  it.  You've  your  own  people  in  Detroit 
to  see,  and  that's  enough.  Besides,  you  can 
do  for  me  the  very  thing  I  expected  to  do 
if  I  went  out." 

"And  that  is  —  ?" 

Pentfield  read  the  full  question  in  his  part 
ner's  eyes,  and  answered  :  — 

"  Yes,  that  very  thing.  You  can  bring  her  in 
to  me.  The  only  difference  will  be  a  Dawson 
wedding  instead  of  a  San  Franciscan  one." 


78  THE    FAITH    OF    MEN 

"But  man  alive!"  Corry  Hutchinson  ob 
jected.  "  How  under  the  sun  can  I  bring  her 
in  ?  We're  not  exactly  brother  and  sister, 
seeing  that  I  have  not  even  met  her,  and  it 
wouldn't  be  just  the  proper  thing,  you  know, 
for  us  to  travel  together.  Of  course,  it  would 
be  all  right  —  you  and  I  know  that;  but 
think  of  the  looks  of  it,  man  ! " 

Pentfield  swore  under  his  breath,  consigning 
the  looks  of  it  to  a  less  frigid  region  than 
Alaska. 

"  Now,  if  you'll  just  listen  and  not  get 
astride  that  high  horse  of  yours  so  blamed 
quick,"  his  partner  went  on,  "  you'll  see  that 
the  only  fair  thing  under  the  circumstances 
is  for  me  to  let  you  go  out  this  year.  Next 
year  is  only  a  year  away,  and  then  I  can  take 
my  fling." 

Pentfield  shook  his  head,  though  visibly 
swayed  by  the  temptation. 

"  It  won't  do,  Corry,  old  man.  I  appreciate 
your  kindness  and  all  that,  but  it  won't  do. 
I'd  be  ashamed  every  time  I  thought  of  you 
slaving  away  in  here  in  my  place." 


THE   FAITH    OF   MEN  79 

A  thought  seemed  suddenly  to  strike  him. 
Burrowing  into  his  bunk  and  disrupting  it  in 
his  eagerness,  he  secured  a  writing  pad  and 
pencil,  and  sitting  down  at  the  table,  began 
to  write  with  swiftness  and  certitude. 

"  Here,"  he  said,  thrusting  the  scrawled 
letter  into  his  partner's  hand.  "  You  just 
deliver  that  and  everything'll  be  all  right." 

Hutchinson  ran  his  eye  over  it  and  laid  it 
down. 

"  How  do  you  know  the  brother  will  be 
willing  to  make  that  beastly  trip  in  here  ?  " 
he  demanded. 

"  Oh,  he'll  do  it  for  me  —  and  for  his 
sister,"  Pentfield  replied.  "You  see,  he's 
tenderfoot,  and  I  wouldn't  trust  her  with  him 
alone.  But  with  you  along  it  will  be  an  easy 
trip  and  a  safe  one.  As  soon  as  you  get  out, 
you'll  go  to  her  and  prepare  her.  Then  you 
can  take  your  run  East  to  your  own  people,  and 
in  the  spring  she  and  her  brother'll  be  ready 
to  start  with  you.  You'll  like  her,  I  know, 
right  from  the  jump;  and  from  that,  you'll 
know  her  as  soon  as  you  lay  eyes  on  her." 


8o  THE   FAITH    OF    MEN 

So  saying  he  opened  the  back  of  his  watch 
and  exposed  a  girl's  photograph  pasted  on  the 
inside  of  the  case.  Corry  Hutchinson  gazed 
at  it  with  admiration  welling  up  in  his  eyes. 

"  Mabel  is  her  name,"  Pentfield  went  on. 
"  And  it's  just  as  well  you  should  know  how 
to  find  the  house.  Soon  as  you  strike  'Frisco, 
take  a  cab  and  just  say,  c  Holmes's  place, 
Myrdon  Avenue  '  —  I  doubt  if  the  Myrdon 
Avenue  is  necessary.  The  cabby'll  know 
where  Judge  Holmes  lives." 

"And  say,"  Pentfield  continued,  after  a 
pause,  "  it  won't  be  a  bad  idea  for  you  to  get 
me  a  few  little  things  which  —  a — er  —  " 

"A  married  man  should  have  in  his  busi 
ness,"  Hutchinson  blurted  out  with  a  grin. 

Pentfield  grinned  back. 

"  Sure,  napkins  and  tablecloths  and  sheets 
and  pillowslips,  and  such  things.  And  you 
might  get  a  good  set  of  china.  You  know 
it'll  come  hard  for  her  to  settle  down  to  this 
sort  of  thing.  You  can  freight  them  in  by 
steamer  around  by  Bering  Sea.  And,  I  say, 
what's  the  matter  with  a  piano?" 


THE   FAITH    OF    MEN  81 

Hutchinson  seconded  the  idea  heartily.  His 
reluctance  had  vanished,  and  he  was  warming 
up  to  his  mission. 

"  By  Jove !  Lawrence, "  he  said  at  the  con 
clusion  of  the  council,  as  they  both  rose  to 
their  feet,  "  I'll  bring  back  that  girl  of  yours 
in  style.  I'll  do  the  cooking  and  take  care 
of  the  dogs,  and  all  that  brother'll  have  to  do 
will  be  to  see  to  her  comfort  and  do  for  her 
whatever  I've  forgotten.  And  I'll  forget  damn 
iittle,  I  can  tell  you." 

The  next  day  Lawrence  Pentfield  shook 
hands  with  him  for  the  last  time  and  watched 
him,  running  with  his  dogs,  disappear  up  the 
frozen  Yukon  on  his  way  to  salt  water  and  the 
world.  Pentfield  went  back  to  his  Bonanza 
mine,  which  was  many  times  more  dreary  than 
before,  and  faced  resolutely  into  the  long 
winter.  There  was  work  to  be  done,  men 
to  superintend,  and  operations  to  direct  in 
burrowing  after  the  erratic  pay  streak ;  but 
his  heart  was  not  in  the  work.  Nor  was  his 
heart  in  any  work  till  the  tiered  logs  of  a  new 
cabin  began  to  rise  on  the  hill  behind  the 


82  THE   FAITH    OF   MEN 

mine.  It  was  a  grand  cabin,  warmly  built 
and  divided  into  three  comfortable  rooms. 
Each  log  was  hand-hewed  and  squared  —  an 
expensive  whim  when  the  axemen  received  a 
daily  wage  of  fifteen  dollars ;  but  to  him  noth 
ing  could  be  too  costly  for  the  home  in  which 
Mabel  Holmes  was  to  live. 

So  he  went  about  with  the  building  of  the 
cabin,  singing,  cc  And  oh,  my  fair,  would  I 
somewhere  might  house  my  heart  with  thee  ! " 
Also,  he  had  a  calendar  pinned  on  the  wall 
above  the  table,  and  his  first  act  each  morning 
was  to  check  off  the  day  and  to  count  the  days 
that  were  left  ere  his  partner  would  come 
booming  down  the  Yukon  ice  in  the  spring. 
Another  whim  of  his  was  to  permit  no  one  to 
sleep  in  the  new  cabin  on  the  hill.  It  must  be 
as  fresh  for  her  occupancy  as  the  square- hewed 
wood  was  fresh ;  and  when  it  stood  complete, 
he  put  a  padlock  on  the  door.  No  one 
entered  save  himself,  and  he  was  wont  to 
spend  long  hours  there,  and  to  come  forth 
with  his  face  strangely  radiant  and  in  his  eyes 
a  glad,  warm  light. 


THE   FAITH    OF   MEN  83 

In  December  he  received  a  letter  from 
Corry  Hutchinson.  He  had  just  seen  Mabel 
Holmes.  She  was  all  she  ought  to  be,  to  be 
Lawrence  Pentfield's  wife,  he  wrote.  He  was 
enthusiastic,  and  his  letter  sent  the  blood  tin 
gling  through  Pentfield's  veins.  Other  letters 
folltowed,  one  on  the  heels  of  another  and 
sometimes  two  or  three  together  when  the  mail 
lumped  up.  And  they  were  all  in  the  same 
tenor.  Corry  had  just  come  from  Myrdon 
Avenue ;  Corry  was  just  going  to  Myrdon 
Avenue ;  or  Corry  was  at  Myrdon  Avenue. 
And  he  lingered  on  and  on  in  San  Francisco, 
nor  even  mentioned  his  trip  to  Detroit. 

Lawrence  Pentfield  began  to  think  that  his 
partner  was  a  great  deal  in  the  company  of 
Mabel  Holmes  for  a  fellow  who  was  going 
East  to  see  his  people.  He  even  caught  him 
self  worrying  about  it  at  times,  though  he 
would  have  worried  more  had  he  not  known 
Mabel  and  Corry  so  well.  Mabel's  letters,  on 
the  other  hand,  had  a  great  deal  to  say  about 
Corry.  Also,  a  thread  of  timidity  that  was 
near  to  disinclination  ran  through  them  con- 


84  THE   FAITH    OF   MEN 

cerning  the  trip  in  over  the  ice  and  the  Daw- 
son  marriage.  Pentfield  wrote  back  heartily, 
laughing  at  her  fears,  which  he  took  to  be  the 
mere  physical  ones  of  danger  and  hardship 
rather  than  those  bred  of  maidenly  reserve. 

But  the  long  winter  and  tedious  wait,  follow 
ing  upon  the  two  previous  long  winters,  were 
telling  upon  him.  The  superintendence  of  the 
men  and  the  pursuit  of  the  pay  streak  could 
not  break  the  irk  of  the  daily  round,  and  the 
end  of  January  found  him  making  occasional 
trips  to  Dawson,  where  he  could  forget  his 
identity  for  a  space  at  the  gambling  tables. 
Because  he  could  afford  to  lose,  he  won,  and 
"  Pentfield's  luck "  became  a  stock  phrase 
among  the  faro  players. 

His  luck  ran  with  him  till  the  second  week 
in  February.  How  much  farther  it  might 
have  run  is  conjectural ;  for,  after  one  big 
game,  he  never  played  again. 

It  was  in  the  Opera  House  that  it  occurred, 
and  for  an  hour  it  had  seemed  that  he  could 
not  place  his  money  on  a  card  without  making 
the  card  a  winner.  In  the  lull  at  the  end  of  a 


THE   FAITH    OF    MEN  85 

deal,  while  the  game  keeper  was  shuffling  the 
deck,  Nick  Inwood,  the  owner  of  the  game, 
remarked,  apropos  of  nothing  :  — 

"  I  say,  Pentfield,  I  see  that  partner  of  yours 
has  been  cutting  up  monkeyshines  on  the 
outside." 

"  Trust  Corry  to  have  a  good  time,"  Pent- 
field  had  answered;  "especially  when  he  has 
earned  it." 

"  Every  man  to  his  taste,"  Nick  Inwood 
laughed ;  "  but  I  should  scarcely  call  getting 
married  a  good  time." 

"  Corry  married  !  "  Pentfield  cried,  incredu 
lous  and  yet  surprised  out  of  himself  for  the 
moment. 

"  Sure,"  Inwood  said.  "  I  saw  it  in  the 
'Frisco  paper  that  came  in  over  the  ice  this 
morning." 

"Well,  and  who's  the  girl?"  Pentfield  de 
manded,  somewhat  with  the  air  of  patient 
fortitude  with  which  one  takes  the  bait  of  a' 
catch  and  is  aware  at  the  time  of  the  large 
laugh  bound  to  follow  at  his  expense. 

Nick    Inwood    pulled   the   newspaper    from 


86  THE    FAITH    OF    MEN 

his  pocket  and  began  looking  it  over,  say 
ing  :— 

"  I  haven't  a  remarkable  memory  for 
names,  but  it  seems  to  me  it's  something 
like  Mabel  —  Mabel  —  oh,  yes,  here  is  it  — 
c  Mabel  Holmes,  daughter  of  Judge  Holmes, 
—  whoever  he  is." 

Lawrence  Pentfield  never  turned  a  hair, 
though  he  wondered  how  any  man  in  the 
North  could  know  her  name.  He  glanced 
coolly  from  face  to  face  to  note  any  vagrant 
signs  of  the  game  that  was  being  played  upon 
him,  but  beyond  a  healthy  curiosity  the  faces 
betrayed  nothing.  Then  he  turned  to  the 
gambler  and  said  in  cold,  even  tones :  — 

"  Inwood,  I've  got  an  even  five  hundred 
here  that  says  the  print  of  what  you  have 
just  said  is  not  in  that  paper." 

The  gambler  looked  at  him  in  quizzical 
surprise. 

"  Go  'way,  child.  I  don't  want  your 
money." 

"  I  thought  so,"  Pentfield  sneered,  return 
ing  to  the  game  and  laying  a  couple  of  bets. 


THE    FAITH    OF    MEN  87 

Nick  Inwood's  face  flushed,  and,  as  though 
doubting  his  senses,  he  ran  careful  eyes  over 
the  print  of  a  quarter  of  a  column.  Then  he 
turned  on  Lawrence  Pentfield. 

"  Look  here,  Pentfield,"  he  said,  in  quick, 
nervous  manner;  "I  can't  allow  that,  you 
know." 

"  Allow  what  ?  "  Pentfield  demanded  bru 
tally. 

"You  implied  that  I  lied." 

"  Nothing  of  the  sort,"  came  the  reply. 
"  I  merely  implied  that  you  were  trying  to 
be  clumsily  witty." 

"  Make  your  bets,  gentlemen,"  the  dealer 
protested. 

"  But  I  tell  you  it's  true,"  Nick  Inwood 
insisted. 

"And  I  have  told  you  I've  five  hundred 
that  says  it's  not  in  that  paper,"  Pentfield 
answered,  at  the  same  time  throwing  a  heavy 
sack  of  dust  on  the  table. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  take  your  money,"  was  the 
retort,  as  Inwood  thrust  the  newspaper  into 
Pentfield's  hand. 


88  THE   FAITH    OF   MEN 

Pentfield  saw,  though  he  could  not  quite 
bring  himself  to  believe.  Glancing  through 
the  headline,  "  Young  Lochinvar  came  out 
of  the  North,"  and  skimming  the  article  until 
the  names  of  Mabel  Holmes  and  Corry 
Hutchinson,  coupled  together,  leaped  squarely 
before  his  eyes,  he  turned  to  the  top  of  the 
page.  It  was  a  San  Francisco  paper. 

"  The  money's  yours,  Inwood,"  he  re 
marked,  with  a  short  laugh.  "There's  no 
telling  what  that  partner  of  mine  will  do 
when  he  gets  started." 

Then  he  returned  to  the  article  and  read 
it  word  for  word,  very  slowly  and  very  care 
fully.  He  could  no  longer  doubt.  Beyond 
dispute,  Corry  Hutchinson  had  married  Mabel 
Holmes.  cc  One  of  the  Bonanza  kings,"  it 
described  him,  "  a  partner  with  Lawrence 
Pentfield  (whom  San  Francisco  society  has 
not  yet  forgotten),  and  interested  with  that 
gentleman  in  other  rich  Klondike  properties." 
Further,  and  at  the  end,  he  read,  "  It  is 
whispered  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hutchinson 
will,  after  a  brief  trip  east  to  Detroit,  make 


THE    FAIT.H    OF    MEN  89 

their  real  honeymoon  journey  into  the  fasci 
nating  Klondike  country." 

"  I'll  be  back  again ;  keep  my  place  for 
me,"  Pentfield  said,  rising  to  his  feet  and 
taking  his  sack,  which  meantime  had  hit  the 
blower  and  came  back  lighter  by  five  hun 
dred  dollars. 

He  went  down  the  street  and  bought  a 
Seattle  paper.  It  contained  the  same  facts, 
though  somewhat  condensed.  Corry  and 
Mabel  were  indubitably  married.  Pentfield 
returned  to  the  Opera  House  and  resumed 
his  seat  in  the  game.  He  asked  to  have  the 
limit  removed. 

"  Trying  to  get  action,"  Nick  Inwood 
laughed,  as  he  nodded  assent  to  the  dealer. 
"  I  was  going  down  to  the  A.  C.  store,  but 
now  I  guess  Fll  stay  and  watch  you  do  your 
worst.'* 

This  Lawrence  Pentfield  did  at  the  end 
of  two  hours'  plunging,  when  the  dealer  bit 
the  end  off  a  fresh  cigar  and  struck  a  match 
as  he  announced  that  the  bank  was  broken. 
Pentfield  cashed  in  for  forty  thousand,  shook 


90  THE    FAITH    OF   MEN 

hands  with  Nick  Inwood,  and  stated  that  it 
was  the  last  time  he  would  ever  play  at  his 
game  or  at  anybody  else's. 

No  one  knew  nor  guessed  that  he  had 
been  hit,  much  less  hit  hard.  There  was 
no  apparent  change  in  his  manner.  For  a 
week  he  went  about  his  work  much  as  he 
had  always  done,  when  he  read  an  account 
of  the  marriage  in  a  Portland  paper.  Then 
he  called  in  a  friend  to  take  charge  of  his 
mine  and  departed  up  the  Yukon  behind  his 
dogs.  He  held  to  the  Salt  Water  trail  till 
White  River  was  reached,  into  which  he 
turned.  Five  days  later  he  came  upon  a 
hunting  camp  of  the  White  River  Indians. 
In  the  evening  there  was  a  feast,  and  he  sat 
in  honor  beside  the  chief;  and  next  morning 
he  headed  his  dogs  back  toward  the  Yukon. 
But  he  no  longer  travelled  alone.  A  young 
squaw  fed  his  dogs  for  him  that  night  and 
helped  to  pitch  camp.  She  had  been  mauled 
by  a  bear  in  her  childhood  and  suffered  from 
a  slight  limp.  Her  name  was  Lashka,  and 
she  was  diffident  at  first  with  the  strange  white 


THE   FAITH    OF   MEN  91 

man  that  had  come  out  of  the  Unknown, 
married  her  with  scarcely  a  look  or  word,  and 
now  was  carrying  her  back  with  him  into  the 
Unknown. 

But  Lashka's  was  better  fortune  than  falls 
to  most  Indian  girls  that  mate  with  white  men 
in  the  Northland.  No  sooner  was  Dawson 
reached  than  the  barbaric  marriage  that  had 
joined  them  was  resolemnized,  in  the  white 
man's  fashion,  before  a  priest.  From  Daw- 
son,  which  to  her  was  all  a  marvel  and  a 
dream,  she  was  taken  directly  to  the  Bonanza 
claim  and  installed  in  the  square-hewed  cabin 
on  the  hill. 

The  nine  days'  wonder  that  followed  arose 
not  so  much  out  of  the  fact  of  the  squaw 
whom  Lawrence  Pentfield  had  taken  to  bed 
and  board  as  out  of  the  ceremony  that  had 
legalized  the  tie.  The  properly  sanctioned 
marriage  was  the  one  thing  that  passed  the 
community's  comprehension.  But  no  one 
bothered  Pentfield  about  it.  So  long  as  a 
man's  vagaries  did  no  special  hurt  to  the  com 
munity,  the  community  let  the  man  alone, 


92  THE   FAITH    OF    MEN 

nor  was  Pentfield  barred  from  the  cabins  of 
men  who  possessed  white  wives.  The  mar 
riage  ceremony  removed  him  from  the  status 
of  squaw-man  and  placed  him  beyond  moral 
reproach,  though  there  were  men  that  chal 
lenged  his  taste  where  women  were  concerned. 

No  more  letters  arrived  from  the  outside. 
Six  sledloads  of  mail  had  been  lost  at  the 
Big  Salmon.  Besides,  Pentfield  knew  that 
Corry  and  his  bride  must  by  that  time  have 
started  in  over  the  trail.  They  were  even 
then  on  their  honeymoon  trip  —  the  honey 
moon  trip  he  had  dreamed  of  for  himself 
through  two  dreary  years.  His  lip  curled 
with  bitterness  at  the  thought;  but  beyond 
being  kinder  to  Lashka  he  gave  no  sign. 

March  had  passed  and  April  was  nearing 
its  end,  when,  one  spring  morning,  Lashka 
asked  permission  to  go  down  the  creek  sev 
eral  miles  to  Siwash  Pete's  cabin.  Pete's 
wife,  a  Stewart  River  woman,  had  sent  up 
word  that  something  was  wrong  with  her 
baby,  and  Lashka,  who  was  preeminently  a 
mother-woman  and  who  held  herself  to  be 


THE   FAITH    OF   MEN  93 

truly  wise  in  the  matter  of  infantile  troubles, 
missed  no  opportunity  of  nursing  the  chil 
dren  of  other  women  as  yet  more  fortunate 
than  she. 

Pentfield  harnessed  his  dogs,  and  with 
Lashka  behind  took  the  trail  down  the  creek 
bed  of  Bonanza.  Spring  was  in  the  air.  The 
sharpness  had  gone  out  of  the  bite  of  the 
frost,  and  though  snow  still  covered  the  land, 
the  murmur  and  trickling  of  water  told  that 
the  iron  grip  of  winter  was  relaxing.  The 
bottom  was  dropping  out  of  the  trail,  and  here 
and  there  a  new  trail  had  been  broken  around 
open  holes.  At  such  a  place,  where  there 
was  not  room  for  two  sleds  to  pass,  Pentfield 
heard  the  jingle  of  approaching  bells  and 
stopped  his  dogs. 

A  team  of  tired-looking  dogs  appeared 
around  the  narrow  bend,  followed  by  a 
heavily  loaded  sled.  At  the  gee-pole  was  a 
man  who  steered  in  a  manner  familiar  to 
Pentfield,  and  behind  the  sled  walked  two 
women.  His  glance  returned  to  the  man  at 
the  gee-pole.  It  was  Corry.  Pentfield  got 


94  THE    FAITH    OF    MEN 

on  his  feet  and  waited.  He  was-  glad  that 
Lashka  was  with  him.  The  meeting  could 
not  have  come  about  better  had  it  been 
planned,  he  thought.  And  as  he  waited  he 
wondered  what  they  would  say,  what  they 
would  be  able  to  say.  As  for  himself  there 
was  no  need  to  say  anything.  The  explain 
ing  was  all  on  their  side,  and  he  was  ready 
to  listen  to  them. 

As  they  drew  in  abreast,  Corry  recognized 
him  and  halted  the  dogs.  With  a  "  Hello, 
old  man,"  he  held  out  his  hand. 

Pentfield  shook  it,  but  without  warmth  or 
speech.  By  this  time  the  two  women  had 
come  up,  and  he  noticed  that  the  second  one 
was  Dora  Holmes.  He  doffed  his  fur  cap, 
the  flaps  of  which  were  flying,  shook  hands 
with  her,  and  turned  toward  Mabel.  She 
swayed  forward,  splendid  and  radiant,  but  fal 
tered  before  his  outstretched  hand.  He  had 
intended  to  say,"  How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Hutch- 
inson  ?  "  —  but  somehow,  the  Mrs.  Hutchin- 
son  had  choked  him,  and  all  he  had  managed 
to  articulate  was  the  "  How  do  you  do  ?  " 


THE    FAITH    OF    MEN  95 

There  was  all  the  constraint  and  awkward 
ness  in  the  situation  he  could  have  wished. 
Mabel  betrayed  the  agitation  appropriate  to  her 
position,  while  Dora,  evidently  brought  along 
as  some  sort  of  peacemaker,  was  saying :  — 

"  Why,   what  is  the   matter,   Lawrence  ? " 

Before  he  could  answer,  Corry  plucked  him 
by  the  sleeve  and  drew  him  aside. 

"  See  here,  old  man,  what's  this  mean  ?  " 
Corry  demanded  in  a  low  tone,  indicating 
Lashka  with  his  eyes. 

"  I  can  hardly  see,  Corry,  where  you  can 
have  any  concern  in  the  matter,"  Pentfield 
answered  mockingly. 

But   Corry   drove  straight  to  the   point. 

"  What  is  that  squaw  doing  on  your  sled  ? 
A  nasty  job  you've  given  me  to  explain  all 
this  away.  I  only  hope  it  can  be  explained 
away.  Who  is  she  ?  Whose  squaw  is  she  ?  " 

Then  Lawrence  Pentfield  delivered  his 
stroke,  and  he  delivered  it  with  a  certain  calm 
elation  of  spirit  that  seemed  somewhat  to  com 
pensate  for  the  wrong  that  had  been  done 
him. 


96  THE    FAITH    OF    MEN 

"  She  is  my  squaw,"  he  said ;  "  Mrs. 
Pentfield,  if  you  please." 

Corry  Hutchinson  gasped,  and  Pentfield 
left  him  and  returned  to  the  two  women. 
Mabel,  with  a  worried  expression  on  her  face, 
seemed  holding  herself  aloof.  He  turned  to 
Dora  and  asked,  quite  genially,  as  though 
all  the  world  was  sunshine:  — 

"  How  did  you  stand  the  trip,  anyway  ? 
Have  any  trouble  to  sleep  warm  ?  " 

"And  how  did  Mrs.  Hutchinson  stand 
it  ?  "  he  asked  next,  his  eyes  on  Mabel. 

"  Oh,  you  dear  ninny  !  "  Dora  cried,  throw 
ing  her  arms  around  him  and  hugging  him. 
"  Then  you  saw  it,  too  !  I  thought  some 
thing  was  the  matter,  you  were  acting  so 
strangely." 

"I  —  I  hardly  understand,"  he  stammered. 

"  It  was  corrected  in  next  day's  paper," 
Dora  chattered  on.  "  We  did  not  dream 
you  would  see  it.  All  the  other  papers  had 
it  correctly,  and  of  course  that  one  miserable 
paper  was  the  very  one  you  saw !  " 

"  Wait  a  moment !     What  do  you  mean  ?  " 


THE   FAITH    OF    MEN  97 

Pentfield  demanded,  a  sudden  fear  at  his 
heart,  for  he  felt  himself  on  the  verge  of  a 
great  gulf. 

But  Dora  swept  volubly  on. 

"  Why,  when  it  became  known  that  Mabel 
and  I  were  going  to  Klondike,  Every  Other 
Week  said  that  when  we  were  gone,  it  would 
be  lovely  on  Myrdon  Avenue,  meaning,  of 
course,  lonely." 

"Then  —  " 

"  I  am  Mrs.  Hutchinson,"  Dora  answered. 
"And  you  thought  it  was  Mabel  all  the  time." 

"  Precisely  the  way  of  it,"  Pentfield  replied 
slowly.  cc  But  I  can  see  now.  The  reporter 
got  the  names  mixed.  The  Seattle  and  Port 
land  papers  copied." 

He  stood  silently  for  a  minute.  Mabel's 
face  was  turned  toward  him  again,  and  he 
could  see  the  glow  of  expectancy  in  it.  Corry 
was  deeply  interested  in  the  ragged  toe  of 
one  of  his  moccasins,  while  Dora  was  steal 
ing  sidelong  glances  at  the  immobile  face 
of  Lashka  sitting  on  the  sled.  Lawrence 
Pentfield  stared  straight  out  before  him  into 


98  THE    FAITH    OF    MEN 

a  dreary  future,  through  the  gray  vistas  of 
which  he  saw  himself  riding  on  a  sled  behind 
running  dogs  with  lame  Lashka  by  his  side. 

Then  he  spoke,  quite  simply,  looking 
Mabel  in  the  eyes. 

"  I  am  very  sorry.  I  did  not  dream  it. 
I  thought  you  had  married  Corry.  That  is 
Mrs.  Pentfield  sitting  on  the  sled  over  there." 

Mabel  Holmes  turned  weakly  toward  her 
sister,  as  though  all  the  fatigue  of  her  great 
journey  had  suddenly  descended  on  her. 
Dora  caught  her  around  the  waist.  Corry 
Hutchinson  was  still  occupied  with  his  moc 
casins.  Pentfield  glanced  quickly  from  face 
to  face,  then  turned  to  his  sled. 

"  Can't  stop  here  all  day,  with  Pete's  baby 
waiting,"  he  said  to  Lashka. 

The  long  whip-lash  hissed  out,  the  dogs 
sprang  against  the  breast  bands,  and  the  sled 
lurched  and  jerked  ahead. 

"  Oh,  I  say,  Corry,"  Pentfield  called  back, 
"you'd  better  occupy  the  old  cabin.  It's 
not  been  used  for  some  time.  I've  built  a 
new  one  on  the  hill." 


TOO    MUCH    GOLD 


TOO    MUCH    GOLD 

THIS   being  a  story  —  and  a  truer  one 
than    it    may    appear  —  of  a    mining 
country,  it  is  quite  to  be  expected  that 
it  will  be  a  hard-luck  story.     But  that  depends 
on  the  point  of  view.     Hard  luck    is  a  mild 
way  of  terming  it  so  far  as  Kink  Mitchell  and 
Hootchinoo  Bill  are  concerned ;  and  that  they 
have   a    decided    opinion    on  the  subject  is  a 
matter  of  common  knowledge  in  the    Yukon 
country. 

It  was  in  the  fall  of  1896  that  the  two 
partners  came  down  to  the  east  bank  of  the 
Yukon,  and  drew  a  Peterborough  canoe  from 
a  moss-covered  cache.  They  were  not  partic 
ularly  pleasant-looking  objects.  A  summer's 
prospecting,  filled  to  repletion  with  hardship 
and  rather  empty  of  grub,  had  left  their  clothes 


102  TOO    MUCH    GOLD 

in  tatters  and  themselves  worn  and  cadaverous. 
A  nimbus  of  mosquitoes  buzzed  about  each 
man's  head.  Their  faces  were  coated  with 
blue  clay.  Each  carried  a  lump  of  this  damp 
clay,  and,  whenever  it  dried  and  fell  from  their 
faces,  more  was  daubed  on  in  its  place.  There 
was  a  querulous  plaint  in  their  voices,  an 
irritability  of  movement  and  gesture,  that 
told  of  broken  sleep  and  a  losing  struggle  with 
the  little  winged  pests. 

"Them  skeeters'll  be  the  death  of  me  yet," 
Kink  Mitchell  whimpered,  as  the  canoe  felt 
the  current  on  her  nose,  and  leaped  out  from 
the  bank. 

"  Cheer  up,  cheer  up.  We're  about  done," 
Hootchinoo  Bill  answered,  with  an  attempted 
heartiness  in  his  funereal  tones  that  was 
ghastly.  "  We'll  be  in  Forty  Mile  in  forty 
minutes,  and  then  — cursed  little  devil !  " 

One  hand  left  his  paddle  and  landed  on  the 
back  of  his  neck  with  a  sharp  slap.  He  put  a 
fresh  daub  of  clay  on  the  injured  part,  swearing 
sulphurously  the  while.  Kink  Mitchell  was 
not  in  the  least  amused.  He  merely  improved 


TOO    MUCH    GOLD  103 

the  opportunity  by  putting  a  thicker  coating 
of  clay  on  his  own  neck. 

They  crossed  the  Yukon  to  its  west  bank, 
shot  down-stream  with  easy  stroke,  and  at  the 
end  of  forty  minutes  swung  in  close  to  the  left 
around  the  tail  of  an  island.  Forty  Mile 
spread  itself  suddenly  before  them.  Both  men 
straightened  their  backs  and  gazed  at  the 
sight.  They  gazed  long  and  carefully,  drift 
ing  with  the  current,  in  their  faces  an  ex 
pression  of  mingled  surprise  and  consternation 
slowly  gathering.  Not  a  thread  of  smoke 
was  rising  from  the  hundreds  of  log-cabins. 
There  was  no  sound  of  axes  biting  sharply 
into  wood,  of  hammering  and  sawing.  Neither 
dogs  nor  men  loitered  before  the  big  store. 
No  steamboats  lay  at  the  bank,  no  canoes,  nor 
scows,  nor  poling-boats.  The  river  was  as  bare 
of  craft  as  the  town  was  of  life. 

"  Kind  of  looks  like  Gabriel's  tooted  his 
little  horn,  and  you  an'  me  has  turned  up 
missing,"  remarked  Hootchinoo  Bill. 

His  remark  was  casual,  as  though  there  was 
nothing  unusual  about  the  occurrence.  Kink 


104  TOO    MUCH    GOLD 

Mitchell's  reply  was  just  as  casual  as  thougn 
he,  too,  were  unaware  of  any  strange  pertur 
bation  of  spirit. 

"  Looks  as  they  was  all  Baptists,  then,  and 
took  the  boats  to  go  by  water,"  was  his 
contribution. 

"  My  ol'  dad  was  a  Baptist,"  Hootchinoo 
Bill  supplemented.  "  An'  he  always  did  hold 
it  was  forty  thousand  miles  nearer  that  way." 

This  was  the  end  of  their  levity.  They 
ran  the  canoe  in  and  climbed  the  high  earth 
bank.  A  feeling  of  awe  descended  upon  them 
as  they  walked  the  deserted  streets.  The  sun 
light  streamed  placidly  over  the  town.  A 
gentle  wind  tapped  the  halyards  against  the 
flagpole  before  the  closed  doors  of  the 
Caledonia  Dance  Hall.  Mosquitoes  buzzed, 
robins  sang,  and  moose  birds  tripped  hungrily 
among  the  cabins ;  but  there  was  no  human 
life  nor  sign  of  human  life. 

"  I'm  just  dyin'  for  a  drink,"  Hootchinoo 
Bill  said,  and  unconsciously  his  voice  sank  to 
a  hoarse  whisper. 

His  partner  nodded  his  head,  loth  to  hear 


TOO    MUCH    GOLD  105 

his  own  voice  break  the  stillness.  They 
trudged  on  in  uneasy  silence  till  surprised  by 
an  open  door.  Above  this  door,  and  stretch 
ing  the  width  of  the  building,  a  rude  sign  an 
nounced  the  same  as  the  "  Monte  Carlo."  But 
beside  the  door,  hat  over  eyes,  chair  tilted 
back,  a  man  sat  sunning  himself.  He  was  an 
old  man.  Beard  and  hair  were  long  and  white 
and  patriarchal. 

"  If  it  ain't  ol'  Jim  Cummings,  turned  up 
like  us,  too  late  for  Resurrection  !  "  said  Kink 
Mitchell. 

"  Most  like  he  didn't  hear  Gabriel  tootin'," 
was  Hootchinoo  Bill's  suggestion. 

"  Hello,  Jim  !     Wake  up  !  "  he  shouted. 

The  old  man  unlimbered  lamely,  blinking  his 
eyes  and  murmuring  automatically :  "  What'll 
ye  have,  gents  ?  What'll  ye  have  ?  " 

They  followed  him  inside  and  ranged  up 
against  the  long  bar  where  of  yore  a  half-dozen 
nimble  barkeepers  found  little  time  to  loaf. 
The  great  room,  ordinarily  aroar  with  life, 
was  still  and  gloomy  as  a  tomb.  There  was 
no  rattling  of  chips,  no  whirring  of  ivory  balls. 


io6  TOO    MUCH    GOLD 

Roulette  and  faro  tables  were  like  gravestones 
under  their  canvas  covers.  No  women's  voices 
drifted  merrily  from  the  dance  room  behind. 
01'  Jim  Cummings  wiped  a  glass  with  palsied 
hands,  and  Kink  Mitchell  scrawled  his  initials 
on  the  dust-covered  bar. 

jlWhere's  the  girls?"  Hootchinoo  Bill 
shouted,  with  affected  geniality. 

"  Gone/'  was  the  ancient  barkeeper's  reply, 
in  a  voice  thin  and  aged  as  himself,  and  as 
unsteady  as  his  hand. 

"Where's  Bidwell  and  Barlow?" 

"  Gone." 

"  And  Sweetwater  Charley  ?  " 

"  Gone." 

"  And  his  sister  ?  " 

"  Gone,  too." 

"  Your  daughter  Sally,  then,  and  her  little 
kid  ? " 

"  Gone,  all  gone."  The  old  man  shook  his 
head  sadly,  rummaging  in  an  absent  way  among 
the  dusty  bottles. 

"Great  Sardanapolis !  Where?"  Kink 
Mitchell  exploded,  unable  longer  to  restrain 


TOO    MUCH    GOLD  107 

himself.  "  You  don't  say  you've  had  the 
plague  ? " 

"Why,  ain't  you  heerd?"  The  old  man 
chuckled  quietly.  "  They-all's  gone  to  Daw- 
son." 

"  What-like  is  that  ?  "  Bill  demanded.  "  A 
creek  ?  or  a  bar  ?  or  a  place  ?  " 

"  Ain't  never  heered  of  Dawson,  eh  ?  "  The 
old  man  chuckled  exasperatingly.  "  Why, 
Dawson's  a  town,  a  city,  bigger'n  Forty  Mile. 
Yes,  sir,  bigger'n  Forty  Mile." 

"I've  ben  in  this  land  seven  year,"  Bill  an 
nounced  emphatically,  "  an'  I  make  free  to  say 
I  never  heard  tell  of  the  burg  before.  Hold 
on !  Let's  have  some  more  of  that  whiskey. 
Your  information's  flabbergasted  me,  that  it 
has.  Now  just  whereabouts  is  this  Dawson- 
place  you  was  a-mentionin'  ?  " 

"  On  the  big  flat  jest  below  the  mouth  of 
Klondike,"  ol'  Jim  answered.  "  But  where 
has  you-all  ben  this  summer  ? " 

"  Never  you  mind  where  we-all's  ben,"  was 
Kink  Mitchell's  testy  reply.  "We-all's  ben 
where  the  skeeters  is  that  thick  you've  got  to 


io8  TOO    MUCH    GOLD 

throw  a  stick  into  the  air  so  as  to  see  the 
sun  and  tell  the  time  of  day.  Ain't  I  right, 
Bill?" 

"  Right  you  are/'  said  Bill.  "  But  speakin' 
of  this  Dawson-place,  how  like  did  it  happen 
to  be,  Jim  ?  " 

"  Ounce  to  the  pan  on  a  creek  called  Bo 
nanza,  an'  they  ain't  got  to  bed-rock  yet." 

"  Who  struck  it  ?  " 

"  Carmack." 

At  mention  of  the  discoverer's  name  the 
partners  stared  at  each  other  disgustedly. 
Then  they  winked  with  great  solemnity. 

"  Siwash  George,"  sniffed  Hootchinoo  Bill. 

"  That  squaw-man,"  sneered  Kink  Mitchell. 

"  I  wouldn't  put  on  my  moccasins  to  stam 
pede  after  anything  he'd  ever  find,"  said  Bill. 

"  Same  here,"  announced  his  partner.  cc  A 
cuss  that's  too  plumb  lazy  to  fish  his  own 
salmon.  That's  why  he  took  up  with  the 
Indians.  S'pose  that  black  brother-in-law  of 
his,  —  lemme  see,  Skookum  Jim,  eh?  —  s'pose 
he's  in  on  it? " 

The   old    barkeeper    nodded.      "  Sure,    an' 


TOO    MUCH    GOLD  109 

what's  more,  all  Forty  Mile,  exceptin'  me  an' 
a  few  cripples/' 

"And  drunks,"  added  Kink  Mitchell. 
^^"  No-sir-ee ! "    the    old    man    shouted    em 
phatically. 

"  I  bet  you  the  drinks  Honkins  ain't  in  on 
it !  "  Hootchinoo  Bill  cried  with  certitude. 

OF  Jim's  face   lighted  up.     "  I  takes   you, 
Bill,  an'  you  loses." 

"  However  did  that  ol'  soak  budge  out  of 
Forty  Mile?"  Mitchell  demanded. 

"They  ties  him  down  an'  throws  him  in  the 
bottom  of  a  polin'-boat,"  ol'  Jim  explained. 
"  Come  right  in  here,  they  did,  an'  takes  him 
out  of  that  there  chair  there  in  the  corner,  an' 
three  more  drunks  they  finds  under  the  piany. 
I  tell  you-alls  the  whole  camp  hits  up  the 
Yukon  for  Dawson  jes'  like  Sam  Scratch  was 
after  them,  —  wimmen,  children,  babes  in  arms, 
the  whole  shebang.  Bidwell  comes  to  me  an' 
sez,  sez  he,  c  Jim,  I  wants  you  to  keep  tab  on 
•  the  Monte  Carlo.  I'm  goin'.' 

"c  Where's    Barlow?'    sez  I.      <  Gone,'    sez 
he,  'an'  I'm  a-followin'  with  a  load  of  whis- 


no  TOO    MUCH    GOLD 

key.'  An*  with  that,  never  waitin'  for  me  to 
decline,  he  makes  a  run  for  his  boat  an'  away 
he  goes,  polin'  up  river  like  mad.  So  here 
I  be,  an'  these  is  the  first  drinks  I've  passed 
out  in  three  days." 

The  partners  looked  at  each  other. 

"  Gosh  darn  my  buttons  !  "  said  Hootchinoo 
Bill.  "  Seems  like  you  and  me,  Kink,  is  the 
kind  of  folks  always  caught  out  with  forks 
when  it  rains  soup." 

"  Wouldn't  it  take  the  saleratus  out  your 
dough,  now?"  said  Kink  Mitchell.  "A 
stampede  of  tin  horns,  drunks,  an'  loafers." 

"An'  squaw-men,"  added  Bill.  "Not  a 
genooine  miner  in  the  whole  caboodle." 

"  Genooine  miners  like  you  an'  me,  Kink," 
he  went  on  academically,  "  is  all  out  an* 
sweatin'  hard  over  Birch  Creek  way.  Not  a 
genooine  miner  in  this  whole  crazy  Dawson 
outfit,  and  I  say  right  here,  not  a  step  do  I 
budge  for  any  Carmack  strike.  I've  got  to 
see  the  color  of  the  dust  first." 

"Same  here,"  Mitchell  agreed.  "Let's 
have  another  drink." 


TOO   MUCH    GOLD  m 

Having  wet  this  resolution,  they  beached 
the  canoe,  transferred  its  contents  to  their 
cabin,  and  cooked  dinner.  But  as  the  after 
noon  wore  along  they  grew  restive.  They 
were  men  used  to  the  silence  of  the  great  wil 
derness,  but  this  gravelike  silence  of  a  town 
worried  them.  They  caught  themselves  lis 
tening  for  familiar  sounds  —  "  waitin'  for  some 
thing  to  make  a  noise  which  ain't  goin*  to 
make  a  noise,"  as  Bill  put  it.  They  strolled 
through  the  deserted  streets  to  the  Monte 
Carlo  for  more  drinks,  and  wandered  along 
the  river  bank  to  the  steamer  landing,  where 
only  water  gurgled  as  the  eddy  filled  and 
emptied,  and  an  occasional  salmon  leapt  flash 
ing  into  the  sun. 

They  sat  down  in  the  shade  in  front  of  the 
store  and  talked  with  the  consumptive  store 
keeper,  whose  liability  to  hemorrhage  accounted 
for  his  presence.  Bill  and  Kink  told  him  how 
they  intended  loafing  in  their  cabin  and  resting 
up  after  the  hard  summer's  work.  They  told 
him,  with  a  certain  insistence,  that  was  half 
appeal  for  belief,  half  challenge  for  contradic- 


ii2  TOO    MUCH    GOLD 

tion,  how  much  they  were  going  to  enjoy  their 
idleness.  But  the  storekeeper  was  uninterested. 
He  switched  the  conversation  back  to  the 
strike  on  Klondike,  and  they  could  not  keep 
him  away  from  it.  He  could  think  of  noth 
ing  else,  talk  of  nothing  else,  till  Hootchinoo 
Bill  rose  up  in  anger  and  disgust. 

"  Gosh  darn  Dawson,  say  I  !  "  he  cried. 

"Same  here,"  said  Kink  Mitchell,  with  a 
brightening  face.  "  One'd  think  something  was 
doin'  up  there,  'stead  of  bein'  a  mere  stampede 
of  greenhorns  an'  tinhorns." 

But  a  boat  came  into  view  from  down 
stream.  It  was  long  and  slim.  It  hugged 
the  bank  closely,  and  its  three  occupants, 
standing  upright,  propelled  it  against  the  stiff 
current  by  means  of  long  poles. 

"  Circle  City  outfit,"  said  the  storekeeper. 
"  I  was  lookin'  for  'em  along  by  afternoon. 
Forty  Mile  had  the  start  of  them  by  a  hundred 
and  seventy  miles.  But  gee  !  they  ain't  losin' 
any  time  !  " 

"  We'll  just  sit  here  quietlike  and  watch  'em 
string  by,"  Bill  said  complacently. 


TOO    MUCH    GOLD  113 

As  he  spoke,  another  boat  appeared  in  sight, 
followed  after  a  brief  interval  by  two  others. 
By  this  time  the  first  boat  was  abreast  of  the 
men  on  the  bank.  Its  occupants  did  not 
cease  poling  while  greetings  were  exchanged, 
and,  though  its  progress  was  slow,  a  half  hour 
saw  it  out  of  sight  up  river. 

Still  they  came  from  below,  boat  after  boat, 
in  endless  procession.  The  uneasiness  of  Bill 
and  Kink  increased.  They  stole  speculative, 
tentative  glances  at  each  other,  and  when 
their  eyes  met,  looked  away  in  embarrassment. 
Finally,  however,  their  eyes  met  and  neither 
looked  away. 

Kink  opened  his  mouth  to  speak,  but  words 
failed  him  and  his  mouth  remained  open  while 
he  continued  to  gaze  at  his  partner. 

"Just  what  I  was  thinking  Kink,"  said  Bill. 

They  grinned  sheepishly  at  each  other,  and 
by  tacit  consent  started  to  walk  away.  Their 
pace  quickened,  and  by  the  time  they  arrived 
at  their  cabin  they  were  on  the  run. 

"  Can't  lose  no  time  with  all  that  multitude 
a-rushin'  by,"  Kink  spluttered,  as  he  jabbed 


ii4  TOO    MUCH    GOLD 

the  sour-dough  can  into  the  beanpot  with  one 
hand  and  with  the  other  gathered  in  the  frying- 
pan  and  coffee-pot. 

"  Should  say  not,"  gasped  Bill,  his  head  and 
shoulders  buried  in  a  clothes-sack  wherein 
were  stored  winter  socks  and  underwear.  "  I 
say,  Kink,  don't  forget  the  saleratus  on  the 
corner  shelf  back  of  the  stove." 

Half  an  hour  later  they  were  launching  the 
canoe  and  loading  up,  while  the  storekeeper 
made  jocular  remarks  about  poor,  weak  mortals 
and  the  contagiousness  of  "  stampedin'  fever." 
But  when  Bill  and  Kink  thrust  their  long 
poles  to  bottom  and  started  the  canoe  against 
the  current,  he  called  after  them :  — 

"  Well,  so  long  and  good  luck  !  And  don't 
forget  to  blaze  a  stake  or  two  for  me  ! " 

They  nodded  their  heads  vigorously  and 
felt  sorry  for  the  poor  wretch  who  remained 
perforce  behind. 

Kink  and  Bill  were  sweating  hard.  Accord 
ing  to  the  revised  Northland  Scripture,  the 
stampede  is  to  the  swift,  the  blazing  of  stakes 


TOO   MUCH    GOLD  115 

to  the  strong,  and  the  Crown,  in  royalties, 
gathers  to  itself  the  fulness  thereof.  Kink 
and  Bill  were  both  swift  and  strong.  They 
took  the  soggy  trail  at  a  long,  swinging  gait 
that  broke  the  hearts  of  a  couple  of  tenderfeet 
who  tried  to  keep  up  with  them.  Behind, 
strung  out  between  them  and  Dawson  (where 
the  boats  were  discarded  and  land  travel 
began),  was  the  vanguard  of  the  Circle  City 
outfit.  In  the  race  from  Forty  Mile  the 
partners  had  passed  every  boat,  winning  from 
the  leading  boat  by  a  length  in  the  Dawson 
eddy  and  leaving  its  occupants  sadly  behind 
the  moment  their  feet  struck  the  trail. 

"  Huh !  couldn't  see  us  for  smoke," 
Hootchinoo  Bill  chuckled,  flirting  the  sting 
ing  sweat  from  his  brow  and  glancing  swiftly 
back  along  the  way  they  had  come. 

Three  men  emerged  from  where  the  trail 
broke  through  the  trees.  Two  followed  close 
at  their  heels,  and  then  a  man  and  a  woman 
shot  into  view. 

"  Come  on,  you  Kink  !  Hit  her  up  !  Hit 
her  up !  " 


n6  TOO   MUCH    GOLD 

Bill  quickened  his  pace.  Mitchell  glanced 
back  in  more  leisurely  fashion. 

"  I  declare  if  they  ain't  lopin' !  " 

"And  here's  one  that's  loped  himself  out," 
said  Bill,  pointing  to  the  side  of  the  trail. 

A  man  was  lying  on  his  back,  panting,  in 
the  culminating  stages  of  violent  exhaustion. 
His  face  was  ghastly,  his  eyes  blood-shot  and 
glazed,  for  all  the  world  like  a  dying  man. 

"  Chechaquo  !  "  Kink  Mitchell  grunted,  and 
it  was  the  grunt  of  the  old  "  sour  dough  " 
for  the  greenhorn,  for  the  man  who  outfitted 
with  "  self-risin'  "  flour  and  used  baking  pow 
der  in  his  biscuits. 

The  partners,  true  to  the  old-timer  cus 
tom,  had  intended  to  stake  down-stream  from 
the  strike,  but  when  they  saw  claim  81  Below 
blazed  on  a  tree,  —  which  meant  fully  eight 
miles  below  Discovery,  —  they  changed  their 
minds.  The  eight  miles  were  covered  in  less 
than  two  hours.  It  was  a  killing  pace,  over 
so  rough  trail,  and  they  passed  scores  of 
exhausted  men  that  had  fallen  by  the  way 
side. 


TOO    MUCH    GOLD  117 

At  Discovery  little  was  to  be  learned  of 
the  upper  creek.  Carmack's  Indian  brother- 
in-law,  Skookum  Jim,  had  a  hazy  notion 
that  the  creek  was  staked  as  high  as  the  30's; 
but  when  Kink  and  Bill  looked  at  the  corner- 
stakes  of  79  Above,  they  threw  their  stamped 
ing  packs  off  their  backs  and  sat  down  to 
smoke.  All  their  effort  had  been  vain.  Bo 
nanza  was  staked  from  mouth  to  source, — 
"  out  of  sight  and  across  the  next  divide," 
Bill  complained  that  night  as  they  fried  their 
bacon  and  boiled  their  coffee  over  Carmack's 
fire  at  Discovery. 

"Try  that  pup,"  Carmack  suggested  next 
morning. 

"  That  pup "  was  a  broad  creek  that 
flowed  into  Bonanza  at  7  Above.  The  part 
ners  received  his  advice  with  the  magnificent 
contempt  of  the  sour  dough  for  a  squaw-man, 
and,  instead,  spent  the  day  on  Adam's  Creek, 
another  and  more  likely-looking  tributary  of 
Bonanza.  But  it  was  the  old  story  over  again 
— -staked  to  the  sky-line. 

For  three  days  Carmack  repeated  his  advice, 


u8  TOO    MUCH    GOLD 

and  for  three  days  they  received  it  contemptu 
ously.  But  on  the  fourth  day,  there  being 
nowhere  else  to  go,  they  went  up  "  that  pup." 
They  knew  that  it  was  practically  unstaked, 
but  they  had  no  intention  of  staking.  The 
trip  was  made  more  for  the  purpose  of  giving 
vent  to  their  ill-humor  than  for  anything  else. 
They  had  become  quite  cynical,  sceptical. 
They  jeered  and  scoffed  at  everything,  and 
insulted  every  chechaquo  they  met  along  the 
way. 

At  No.  23  the  stakes  ceased.  The  remain 
der  of  the  creek  was  open  to  location. 

"  Moose  pasture  !  "  sneered  Kink  Mitchell. 

But  Bill  gravely  paced  off  five  hundred  feet 
up  the  creek  and  blazed  the  corner-stakes. 
He  had  picked  up  the  bottom  of  a  candle- 
box,  and  on  the  smooth  side  he  wrote  the 
notice  for  his  centre-stake :  — 

THIS  MOOSE  PASTURE  is  RESERVED   FOR  THE 
SWEDES  AND  CHECHAQUOS 

—  BILL  RADER. 

Kink  read  it  over  with  approval,  saying :  — 


TOO    MUCH    GOLD  119 

"  As  them's  my  sentiments,  I  reckon  I 
might  as  well  subscribe." 

So  the  name  of  Charles  Mitchell  was  added 
to  the  notice  ;  and  many  an  old  sour  dough's 
face  relaxed  that  day  at  sight  of  the  handi 
work  of  a  kindred  spirit. 

"  How's  the  pup  ?  "  Carmack  inquired  when 
they  strolled  back  into  camp. 

"  To  hell  with  pups  ! "  was  Hootchinoo 
Bill's  reply.  "  Me  and  Kink's  goin'  a-lookin' 
for  Too  Much  Gold  when  we  get  rested 
up." 

Too  Much  Gold  was  the  fabled  creek  of 
which  all  sour  doughs  dreamed,  whereof  it 
was  said  the  gold  was  so  thick  that,  in  order 
to  wash  it,  gravel  must  first  be  shovelled  into 
the  sluice-boxes.  But  the  several  days'  rest, 
preliminary  to  the  quest  for  Too  Much  Gold, 
brought  a  slight  change  in  their  plan,  inas 
much  as  it  brought  one  Ans  Handerson,  a 
Swede. 

Ans  Handerson  had  been  working  for  wages 
all  summer  at  Miller  Creek,  over  on  the  Sixty 
Mile,  and,  the  summer  done,  had  strayed  up 


120  TOO    MUCH    GOLD 

Bonanza  like  many  another  waif  helplessly 
adrift  on  the  gold  tides  that  swept  willy-nilly 
across  the  land.  He  was  tall  and  lanky.  His 
arms  were  long,  like  prehistoric  man's,  and 
his  hands  were  like  soup-plates,  twisted  and 
gnarled,  and  big-knuckled  from  toil.  He  was 
slow  of  utterance  and  movement,  and  his  eyes, 
pale  blue  as  his  hair  was  pale  yellow,  seemed 
filled  with  an  immortal  dreaming,  the  stuff  of 
which  no  man  knew,  and  himself  least  of  all. 
Perhaps  this  appearance  of  immortal  dreaming 
was  due  to  a  supreme  and  vacuous  innocence. 
At  any  rate,  this  was  the  valuation  men  of 
ordinary  clay  put  upon  him,  and  there  was 
nothing  extraordinary  about  the  composition 
of  Hootchinoo  Bill  and  Kink  Mitchell. 

The  partners  had  spent  a  day  of  visiting  and 
gossip,  and  in  the  evening  met  in  the  tempo 
rary  quarters  of  the  Monte  Carlo  —  a  large 
tent  where  stampeders  rested  their  weary  bones 
and  bad  whiskey  sold  at  a  dollar  a  drink. 
Since  the  only  money  in  circulation  was  dust, 
and  since  the  house  took  the  "  down-weight  " 
on  the  scales,  a  drink  cost  something  more 


TOO    MUCH    GOLD  121 

than  a  dollar.  Bill  and  Kink  were  not  drink 
ing,  principally  for  the  reason  that  their  one 
and  common  sack  was  not  strong  enough  to 
stand  many  excursions  to  the  scales. 

"Say,  Bill,  I've  got  a  chechaquo  on  the 
string  for  a  sack  of  flour/'  Mitchell  announced 
jubilantly. 

Bill  looked  interested  and  pleased.  Grub 
was  scarce,  and  they  were  not  overplentifully 
supplied  for  the  quest  after  Too  Much  Gold. 

"  Flour's  worth  a  dollar  a  pound,"  he 
answered.  "  How  like  do  you  calculate  to 
get  your  finger  on  it  ? " 

"Trade'm  a  half-interest  in  that  claim  of 
our'n,"  Kink  answered. 

"  What  claim  ?  "  Bill  was  surprised.  Then 
he  remembered  the  reservation  he  had  staked 
off  for  the  Swedes,  and  said,  "  Oh  !  " 

"  I  wouldn't  be  so  clost  about  it,  though," 
he  added.  "  Give'm  the  whole  thing  while 
you're  about  it,  in  a  right  free-handed  way." 

Bill  shook  his  head.  "  If  I  did,  he'd  get 
clean  scairt  and  prance  off.  I'm  lettin'  on  as 
how  the  ground  is  believed  to  be  valuable,  an' 


122  TOO    MUCH    GOLD 

that  we're  lettin'  go  half  just  because  we're 
monstrous  short  on  grub.  After  the  dicker 
we  can  make  him  a  present  of  the  whole 
shebang." 

"If  somebody  ain't  disregarded  our  notice," 
Bill  objected,  though  he  was  plainly  pleased  at 
the  prospect  of  exchanging  the  claim  for  a 
sack  of  flour. 

"  She  ain't  jumped,"  Kink  assured  him. 
"  It's  No.  24,  and  it  stands.  The  chechaquos 
took  it  serious,  and  they  begun  stakin'  where 
you  left  off.  Staked  clean  over  the  divide, 
too.  I  was  gassin'  with  one  of  them  which 
has  just  got  in  with  cramps  in  his  legs." 

It  was  then,  and  for  the  first  time,  that  they 
heard  the  slow  and  groping  utterance  of  Ans 
Handerson. 

"  Ay  like  the  looks,"  he  was  saying  to  the 
barkeeper.  "  Ay  tank  Ay  gat  a  claim." 

The  partners  winked  at  each  other,  and  a 
few  minutes  later  a  surprised  and  grateful 
Swede  was  drinking  bad  whiskey  with  two 
hard-hearted  strangers.  But  he  was  as  hard 
headed  as  they  were  hard  hearted.  The  sack 


TOO    MUCH    GOLD  123 

made  frequent  journeys  to  the  scales,  followed 
solicitously  each  time  by  Kink  Mitchell's 
eyes,  and  still  Ans  Handerson  did  not  loosen 
up.  In  his  pale  blue  eyes,  as  in  summer  seas, 
immortal  dreams  swam  up  and  burned,  but 
the  swimming  and  the  burning  were  due  to  the 
tales  of  gold  and  prospect  pans  he  heard, 
rather  than  to  the  whiskey  he  slid  so  easily 
down  his  throat. 

The  partners  were  in  despair,  though  they 
appeared  boisterous  and  jovial  of  speech  and 
action. 

"  Don't  mind  me,  my  friend,"  Hootchinoo 
Bill  hiccoughed,  his  hand  upon  Ans  Han- 
derson's  shoulder.  "  Have  another  drink. 
We're  just  celebratin'  Kink's  birthday  here. 
This  is  my  pardner  Kink,  Kink  Mitchell. 
An'  what  might  your  name  be  ? " 

This  learned,  his  hand  descended  resound 
ingly  on  Kink's  back,  and  Kink  simulated 
clumsy  self-consciousness  in  that  he  was  for 
the  time  being  the  centre  of  the  rejoicing, 
while  Ans  Handerson  looked  pleased  and 
asked  them  to  have  a  drink  with  him.  It  was 


124  TOO    MUCH    GOLD 

the  first  and  last  time  he  treated,  until  the  play 
changed  and  his  canny  soul  was  roused  to 
unwonted  prodigality.  But  he  paid  for  the 
liquor  from  a  fairly  healthy-looking  sack. 
cc  Not  less'n  eight  hundred  in  it,"  calculated 
the  lynx-eyed  Kink;  and  on  the  strength  of 
it  he  took  the  first  opportunity  of  a  privy  con 
versation  with  Bidwell,  proprietor  of  the  bad 
whiskey  and  the  tent. 

"  Here's  my  sack,  Bidwell,"  Kink  said,  with 
the  intimacy  and  surety  of  one  old-timer  to 
another.  "Just  weigh  fifty  dollars  into  it  for 
a  day  or  so  more  or  less,  and  we'll  be  yours 
truly,  Bill  an'  me." 

Thereafter  the  journeys  of  the  sack  to  the 
scales  were  more  frequent,  and  the  celebration 
of  Kink's  natal  day  waxed  hilarious.  He  even 
essayed  to  sing  the  old-timer's  classic,  "  The 
Juice  of  the  Forbidden  Fruit,"  but  broke 
down  and  drowned  his  embarrassment  in 
another  round  of  drinks.  Even  Bidwell 
honored  him  with  a  round  or  two  on  the 
house ;  and  he  and  Bill  were  decently  drunk 
by  the  time  Ans  Handerson's  eyelids  began 


TOO    MUCH    GOLD  125 

to  droop  and  his  tongue  gave  promise  of 
loosening. 

Bill  grew  affectionate,  then  confidential.  He 
told  his  troubles  and  hard  luck  to  the  bar 
keeper  and  the  world  in  general,  and  to  Ans 
Handerson  in  particular.  He  required  no 
histrionic  powers  to  act  the  part.  The  bad 
whiskey  attended  to  that.  He  worked  him 
self  into  a  great  sorrow  for  himself  and  Bill, 
and  his  tears  were  sincere  when  he  told  how 
he  and  his  partner  were  thinking  of  selling  a 
half-interest  in  good  ground  just  because  they 
were  short  of  grub.  Even  Kink  listened  and 
believed. 

Ans  Handerson's  eyes  were  shining  unholily 
as  he  asked,  "  How  much  you  tank  you 
take  ? " 

Bill  and  Kink  did  not  hear  him,  and  he  was 
compelled  to  repeat  his  query.  They  ap 
peared  reluctant.  He  grew  keener.  And  he 
swayed  back  and  forward,  holding  on  to  the 
bar  and  listening  with  all  his  ears  while  they 
conferred  together  on  one  side,  and  wrangled 
as  to  whether  they  should  or  not,  and  disagreed 


126  TOO    MUCH    GOLD 

in  stage  whispers  over  the  price  they  should 
set. 

"  Two  hundred  and  —  hie  !  —  fifty,"  Bill 
finally  announced,  "  but  we  reckon  as  we  won't 
sell." 

"Which  is  monstrous  wise  if  I  might  chip 
in  my  little  say,"  seconded  Bidwell. 

"Yes,  indeedy,"  added  Kink.  "We  ain't 
in  no  charity  business  a-disgorgin'  free  an* 
generous  to  Swedes  an*  white  men." 

"Ay  tank  we  haf  another  drink,"  hiccoughed 
Ans  Handerson,  craftily  changing  the  subject 
against  a  more  propitious  time. 

And  thereafter,  to  bring  about  that  propi 
tious  time,  his  own  sack  began  to  see-saw  be 
tween  his  hip  pocket  and  the  scales.  Bill  and 
Kink  were  coy,  but -they  finally  yielded  to  his 
blandishments.  Whereupon  he  grew  shy  and 
drew  Bidwell  to  one  side.  He  staggered  ex 
ceedingly,  and  held  on  to  Bidwell  for  support 
as  he  asked  :  — 

"  They  ban  all  right,  them  men,  you  tank 
so  ?  " 

"  Sure,"  Bidwell  answered  heartily.    "  Known 


TOO    MUCH    GOLD  127 

'em  for  years.  Old  sour  doughs.  When  they 
sell  a  claim,  they  sell  a  claim.  They  ain't  no 
air-dealers." 

"Ay  tank  Ay  buy,"  Ans  Handerson  an 
nounced,  tottering  back  to  the  two  men. 

But  by  now  he  was  dreaming  deeply,  and  he 
proclaimed  he  would  have  the  whole  claim  or 
nothing.  This  was  the  cause  of  great  pain  to 
Hootchinoo  Bill.  He  orated  grandly  against 
the  "  hawgishness  "  of  chechaquos  and  Swedes, 
albeit  he  dozed  between  periods,  his  voice 
dying  away  to  a  gurgle,  and  his  head  sinking 
forward  on  his  breast.  But  whenever  roused 
by  a  nudge  from  Kink  or  Bidwell,  he  never 
failed  to  explode  another  volley  of  abuse  and 
insult. 

Ans  Handerson  was  calm  under  it  all. 
Each  insult  added  to  the  value  of  the  claim. 
Such  unamiable  reluctance  to  sell  advertised 
but  one  thing  to  him,  and  he  was  aware  of 
a  great  relief  when  Hootchinoo  Bill  sank 
snoring  to  the  floor,  and  he  was  free  to 
turn  his  attention  to  his  less  intractable 
partner. 


ii8  TOO    MUCH    GOLD 

Kink  Mitchell  was  persuadable,  though  a 
poor  mathematician.  He  wept  dolefully,  but 
was  willing  to  sell  a  half-interest  for  two  hun 
dred  and  fifty  dollars  or  the  whole  claim  for 
seven  hundred  and  fifty.  Ans  Handerson  and 
Bidwell  labored  to  clear  away  his  erroneous 
ideas  concerning  fractions,  but  their  labor  was 
vain.  He  spilled  tears  and  regrets  all  over 
the  bar  and  on  their  shoulders,  which  tears, 
however,  did  not  wash  away  his  opinion,  that 
if  one  half  was  worth  two  hundred  and  fifty, 
two  halves  were  worth  three  times  as  much. 

In  the  end,  —  and  even  Bidwell  retained  no 
more  than  hazy  recollections  of  how  the  night 
terminated,  —  a  bill  of  sale  was  drawn  up, 
wherein  Bill  Rader  and  Charles  Mitchell 
yielded  up  all  right  and  title  to  the  claim 
known  as  24  Eldorado,  the  same  being  the 
name  the  creek  had  received  from  some  opti 
mistic  chechaquo. 

When  Kink  had  signed,  it  took  the  united 
efforts  of  the  three  to  arouse  Bill.  Pen  in 
hand,  he  swayed  long  over  the  document ; 
and,  each  time  he  rocked  back  and  forth,  in 


TOO    MUCH    GOLD  129 

Ans  Handerson's  eyes  flashed  and  faded  a  won 
drous  golden  vision.  When  the  precious  sig 
nature  was  at  last  appended  and  the  dust  paid 
over,  he  breathed  a  great  sigh,  and  sank  to 
sleep  under  a  table,  where  he  dreamed  immor 
tally  until  morning. 

But  the  day  was  chill  and  gray.  He  felt 
bad.  His  first  act,  unconscious  and  auto 
matic,  was  to  feel  for  his  sack.  Its  lightness 
startled  him.  Then,  slowly,  memories  of  the 
night  thronged  into  his  brain.  Rough  voices 
disturbed  him.  He  opened  his  eyes  and 
peered  out  from  under  the  table.  A  couple 
of  early  risers,  or,  rather,  men  who  had  been 
out  on  trail  all  night,  were  vociferating  their 
opinions  concerning  the  utter  and  loathsome 
worthlessness  of  Eldorado  Creek.  He  grew 
frightened,  felt  in  his  pocket,  and  found  the 
deed  to  24  Eldorado. 

Ten  minutes  later  Hootchinoo  Bill  and 
Kink  Mitchell  were  roused  from  their 
blankets  by  a  wild-eyed  Swede  that  strove 
to  force  upon  them  an  ink-scrawled  and  very 
blotty  piece  of  paper. 


130  TOO    MUCH    GOLD 

"Ay  tank  Ay  take  my  money  back,"  he 
gibbered.  "Ay  tank  Ay  take  my  money 
back?' 

Tears  were  in  his  eyes  and  throat.  They 
ran  down  his  cheeks  as  he  knelt  before  them 
and  pleaded  and  implored.  But  Bill  and 
Kink  did  not  laugh.  They  might  have  been 
harder  hearted. 

"  First  time  I  ever  hear  a  man  squeal  over 
a  minin'  deal,"  Bill  said.  "An*  I  make  free 
to  say  'tis  too  onusual  for  me  to  savvy." 

"Same  here,"  Kink  Mitchell  remarked. 
"  Minin'  deals  is  like  horse-tradin'." 

They  were  honest  in  their  wonderment. 
They  could  not  conceive  of  themselves  raising 
a  wail  over  a  business  transaction,  so  they 
could  not  understand  it  in  another  man. 

"The  poor,  ornery  chechaquo"  murmured 
Hootchinoo  Bill,  as  they  watched  the  sorrow 
ing  Swede  disappear  up  the  trail. 

"But  this  ain't  Too  Much  Gold,"  Kink 
Mitchell  said  cheerfully. 

And  ere  the  day  was  out  they  purchased 
flour  and  bacon  at  exorbitant  prices  with  Ans 


TOO    MUCH    GOLD  131 

Handerson's  dust  and  crossed  over  the  divide 
in  the  direction  of  the  creeks  that  lie  between 
Klondike  and  Indian  River. 

Three  months  later  they  came  back  over 
the  divide  in  the  midst  of  a  snow  storm  and 
dropped  down  the  trail  to  24  Eldorado.  It 
merely  chanced  that  the  trail  led  them  that 
way.  They  were  not  looking  for  the  claim. 
Nor  could  they  see  much  through  the  driving 
white  till  they  set  foot  upon  the  claim  itself. 
And  then  the  air  lightened,  and  they  beheld 
a  dump,  capped  by  a  windlass  that  a  man 
was  turning.  They  saw  him  draw  a  bucket 
of  gravel  from  the  hole  and  tilt  it  on  the  edge 
of  the  dump.  Likewise  they  saw  another 
man,  strangely  familiar,  filling  a  pan  with  the 
fresh  gravel.  His  hands  were  large ;  his  hair 
was  pale  yellow.  But  before  they  reached 
him,  he  turned  with  the  pan  and  fled  toward 
a  cabin.  He  wore  no  hat,  and  the  snow 
falling  down  his  neck  accounted  for  his  haste. 
Bill  and  Kink  ran  after  him,  and  came  upon 
him  in  the  cabin,  kneeling  by  the  stove  and 
washing  the  pan  of  gravel  in  a  tub  of  water. 


132  TOO    MUCH    GOLD 

He  was  too  deeply  engaged  to  notice  more 
than  that  somebody  had  entered  the  cabin. 
They  stood  at  his  shoulder  and  looked  on. 
He  imparted  to  the  pan  a  deft  circular  motion, 
pausing  once  or  twice  to  rake  out  the  larger 
particles  of  gravel  with  his  ringers.  The  water 
was  muddy,  and,  with  the  pan  buried  in  it, 
they  could  see  nothing  of  its  contents.  Sud 
denly  he  lifted  the  pan  clear  and  sent  the 
water  out  of  it  with  a  flirt.  A  mass  of  yellow, 
like  butter  in  a  churn,  showed  across  the 
bottom. 

Hootchinoo  Bill  swallowed.  Never  in  his 
life  had  he  dreamed  of  so  rich  a  test-pan. 

"  Kind  of  thick,  my  friend,"  he  said  huskily. 
"  How  much  might  you  reckon  that-all  to 
be?" 

Ans  Handerson  did  not  look  up  as  he 
replied,  "  Ay  tank  fafty  ounces." 

"You  must  be  scrumptious  rich,  then, 
eh?" 

Still  Ans  Handerson  kept  his  head  down, 
absorbed  in  putting  in  the  fine  touches  which 
wash  out  the  last  particles  of  dross,  though 


TOO    MUCH    GOLD  133 

he  answered,  "Ay  tank  Ay  ban  wort'  five 
hundred  t'ousand  dollar." 

"  Gosh ! "  said  Hootchinoo  Bill,  and  he 
said  it  reverently. 

"Yes,  Bill,  gosh!"  said  Kink  Mitchell; 
and  they  went  out  softly  and  closed  the 
door. 


THE    ONE  THOUSAND  DOZEN 


THE    ONE    THOUSAND    DOZEN 

DAVID  RASMUNSEN  was  a  hustler, 
and,  like  many  a  greater  man,  a  man 
of  the  one  idea.  Wherefore,  when 
the  clarion  call  of  the  North  rang  on  his  ear, 
he  conceived  an  adventure  in  eggs  and  bent 
all  his  energy  to  its  achievement.  He  figured 
briefly  and  to  the  point,  and  the  adventure 
became  iridescent-hued,  splendid.  That  eggs 
would  sell  at  Dawson  for  five  dollars  a  dozen 
was  a  safe  working  premise.  Whence  it  was 
incontrovertible  that  one  thousand  dozen 
would  bring,  in  the  Golden  Metropolis,  five 
thousand  dollars. 

On  the  other  hand,  expense  was  to  be  con 
sidered,  and  he  considered  it  well,  for  he  was  a 
careful  man,  keenly  practical,  with  a  hard  head 
and  a  heart  that  imagination  never  warmed. 
At  fifteen  cents  a  dozen,  the  initial  cost  of  his 

137 


138     THE   ONE   THOUSAND    DOZEN 

thousand  dozen  would  be  one  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars,  a  mere  bagatelle  in  face  of  the 
enormous  profit.  And  suppose,  just  suppose, 
to  be  wildly  extravagant  for  once,  that  trans 
portation  for  himself  and  eggs  should  run  up 
eight  hundred  and  fifty  more ;  he  would  still 
have  four  thousand  clear  cash  and  clean  when 
the  last  egg  was  disposed  of  and  the  last  dust 
had  rippled  into  his  sack. 

"You  see,  Alma,"  —  he  figured  it  over  with 
his  wife,  the  cosy  dining  room  submerged  in  a 
sea  of  maps,  government  surveys,  guidebooks, 
and  Alaskan  itineraries,  —  "  you  see,  expenses 
don't  really  begin  till  you  make  Dyea  —  fifty 
dollars'll  cover  it  with  a  first-class  passage 
thrown  in.  Now  from  Dyea  to  Lake  Linder- 
man,  Indian  packers  take  your  goods  over  for 
twelve  cents  a  pound,  twelve  dollars  a  hundred, 
or  one  hundred  and  twenty  dollars  a  thousand. 
Say  I  have  fifteen  hundred  pounds,  it'll  cost 
one  hundred  and  eighty  dollars  —  call  it  two 
hundred  and  be  safe.  I  am  creditably  informed 
by  a  Klondiker  just  come  out  that  I  can  buy  a 
boat  for  three  hundred.  But  the  same  man 


THE    ONE   THOUSAND    DOZEN     139 

says  I'm  sure  to  get  a  couple  of  passengers  for 
one  hundred  and  fifty  each,  which  will  give  me 
the  boat  for  nothing,  and,  further,  they  can 
help  me  manage  it.  And  .  .  .  that's  all ;  I 
put  my  eggs  ashore  from  the  boat  at  Dawson. 
Now  let  me  see  how  much  is  that  ? " 

"  Fifty  dollars  from  San  Francisco  to  Dyea, 
two  hundred  from  Dyea  to  Linderman,  pas 
sengers  pay  for  the  boat  —  two  hundred  and 
fifty  all  told,"  she  summed  up  swiftly. 

"  And  a  hundred  for  my  clothes  and  personal 
outfit,"  he  went  on  happily ;  "  that  leaves  a 
margin  of  five  hundred  for  emergencies.  And 
what  possible  emergencies  can  arise  ? " 

Alma  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  elevated 
her  brows.  If  that  vast  Northland  was  capa 
ble  of  swallowing  up  a  man  and  a  thousand 
dozen  eggs,  surely  there  was  room  and  to 
spare  for  whatever  else  he  might  happen  to 
possess.  So  she  thought,  but  she  said  noth 
ing.  She  knew  David  Rasmunsen  too  well  to 
say  anything. 

"  Doubling  the  time  because  of  chance  delays, 
I  should  make  the  trip  in  two  months.  Think 


140     THE    ONE   THOUSAND    DOZEN 

of  it,  Alma  !  Four  thousand  in  two  months  ! 
Beats  the  paltry  hundred  a  month  I'm  getting 
now.  Why,  we'll  build  further  out  where 
we'll  have  more  space,  gas  in  every  room,  and 
a  view,  and  the  rent  of  the  cottage'll  pay  taxes, 
insurance,  and  water,  and  leave  something  over. 
And  then  there's  always  the  chance  of  my 
striking  it  and  coming  out  a  millionnaire.  Now 
tell  me,  Alma,  don't  you  think  I'm  very 
moderate  ? " 

And  Alma  could  hardly  think  otherwise. 
Besides,  had  not  her  own  cousin,  —  though  a 
remote  and  distant  one  to  be  sure,  the  black 
sheep,  the  harum-scarum,  the  ne'er-do-well, — 
had  not  he  come  down  out  of  that  weird  North 
country  with  a  hundred  thousand  in  yellow7 
dust,  to  say  nothing  of  a  half-ownership  in  the 
hole  from  which  it  came? 

David  Rasmunsen's  grocer  was  surprised 
when  he  found  him  weighing  eggs  in  the 
scales  at  the  end  of  the  counter,  and  Ras- 
munsen  himself  was  more  surprised  when  he 
found  that  a  dozen  eggs  weighed  a  pound  and 
a  half — fifteen  hundred  pounds  for  his  thou- 


THE    ONE    THOUSAND    DOZEN     141 

sand  dozen  !  There  would  be  no  weight  left 
for  his  clothes,  blankets,  and  cooking  utensils, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  grub  he  must  necessarily 
consume  by  the  way.  His  calculations  were 
all  thrown  out,  and  he  was  just  proceeding  to 
recast  them  when  he  hit  upon  the  idea  of 
weighing  small  eggs.  "  For  whether  they  be 
large  or  small,  a  dozen  eggs  is  a  dozen  eggs," 
he  observed  sagely  to  himself;  and  a  dozen 
small  ones  he  found  to  weigh  but  a  pound 
and  a  quarter.  Thereat  the  city  of  San  Fran 
cisco  was  overrun  by  anxious-eyed  emissaries, 
and  commission  houses  and  dairy  associations 
were  startled  by  a  sudden  demand  for  eggs 
running  not  more  than  twenty  ounces  to  the 
dozen. 

Rasmunsen  mortgaged  the  little  cottage  for  a 
thousand  dollars,  arranged  for  his  wife  to  make 
a  prolonged  stay  among  her  own  people,  threw 
up  his  job,  and  started  North.  To  keep  within 
his  schedule  he  compromised  on  a  second-class 
passage,  which,  because  of  the  rush,  was  worse 
than  steerage ;  and  in  the  late  summer,  a  pale 
and  wabbly  man,  he  disembarked  with  his  eggs 


142     THE    ONE   THOUSAND    DOZEN 

on  the  Dyea  beach.  But  it  did  not  take  him 
long  to  recover  his  land  legs  and  appetite.  His 
first  interview  with  the  Chilkoot  packers 
straightened  him  up  and  stiffened  his  backbone. 
Forty  cents  a  pound  they  demanded  for  the 
twenty-eight-mile  portage,  and  while  he  caught 
his  breath  and  swallowed,  the  price  went  up  to 
forty-three.  Fifteen  husky  Indians  put  the 
straps  on  his  packs  at  forty-five,  but  took  them 
off  at  an  offer  of  forty-seven  from  a  Skaguay 
Croesus  in  dirty  shirt  and  ragged  overalls  who 
had  lost  his  horses  on  the  White  Pass  Trail 
and  was  now  making  a  last  desperate  drive  at 
the  country  by  way  of  Chilkoot. 

But  Rasmunsen  was  clean  grit,  and  at  fifty 
cents  found  takers,  who,  two  days  later,  set  his 
eggs  down  intact  at  Linderman.  But  fifty 
cents  a  pound  is  a  thousand  dollars  a  ton,  and 
his  fifteen  hundred  pounds  had  exhausted  his 
emergency  fund  and  left  him  stranded  at  the 
Tantalus  point  where  each  day  he  saw  the 
fresh-whipsawed  boats  departing  for  Dawson. 
Further,  a  great  anxiety  brooded  over  the  camp 
where  the  boats  were  built.  Men  worked 


THE    ONE   THOUSAND    DOZEN     143 

frantically,  early  and  late,  at  the  height  of  their 
endurance,  calking,  nailing,  and  pitching  in  a 
frenzy  of  haste  for  which  adequate  explanation 
was  not  far  to  seek.  Each  day  the  snow-line 
crept  farther  down  the  bleak,  rock-shouldered 
peaks,  and  gale  followed  gale,  with  sleet  and 
slush  and  snow,  and  in  the  eddies  and  quiet 
places  young  ice  formed  and  thickened  through 
the  fleeting  hours.  And  each  morn,  toil-stif 
fened  men  turned  wan  faces  across  the  lake  to 
see  if  the  freeze-up  had  come.  For  the  freeze- 
up  heralded  the  death  of  their  hope — the  hope 
that  they  would  be  floating  down  the  swift 
river  ere  navigation  closed  on  the  chain  of 
lakes. 

To  harrow  Rasmunsen's  soul  further,  he 
discovered  three  competitors  in  the  egg  busi 
ness.  It  was  true  that  one,  a  little  German, 
had  gone  broke  and  was  himself  forlornly 
back-tripping  the  last  pack  of  the  portage  ;  but 
the  other  two  had  boats  nearly  completed  and 
were  daily  supplicating  the  god  of  merchants 
and  traders  to  stay  the  iron  hand  of  winter  for 
just  another  day.  But  the  iron  hand  closed 


144     THE    ONE   THOUSAND    DOZEN 

down  over  the  land.  Men  were  being  frozen 
in  the  blizzard,  which  swept  Chilkoot,  and  Ras- 
munsen  frosted  his  toes  ere  he  was  aware.  He 
found  a  chance  to  go  passenger  with  his  freight 
in  a  boat  just  shoving  off  through  the  rubble, 
but  two  hundred,  hard  cash,  was  required,  and 
he  had  no  money. 

"Ay  tank  you  yust  wait  one  leedle  w'ile," 
said  the  Swedish  boat-builder,  who  had  struck 
his  Klondike  right  there  and  was  wise  enough 
to  know  it  — "  one  leedle  w'ile  und  I  make 
you  a  tarn  fine  skiff  boat,  sure  Pete." 

With  this  unpledged  word  to  go  on,  Ras- 
munsen  hit  the  back  trail  to  Crater  Lake, 
where  he  fell  in  with  two  press  correspondents 
whose  tangled  baggage  was  strewn  from  Stone 
House,  over  across  the  Pass,  and  as  far  as 
Happy  Camp. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  with  consequence.  "  I've 
a  thousand  dozen  eggs  at  Linderman,  and  my 
boat's  just  about  got  the  last  seam  calked. 
Consider  myself  in  luck  to  get  it.  Boats  are 
at  a  premium,  you  know,  and  none  to  be 
had." 


THE   ONE    THOUSAND    DOZEN     145 

Whereupon  and  almost  with  bodily  violence 
the  correspondents  clamored  to  go  with  him, 
fluttered  greenbacks  before  his  eyes,  and 
spilled  yellow  twenties  from  hand  to  hand. 
He  could  not  hear  of  it,  but  they  overper- 
suaded  him,  and  he  reluctantly  consented  to 
take  them  at  three  hundred  apiece.  Also  they 
pressed  upon  him  the  passage  money  in  ad 
vance.  And  while  they  wrote  to  their  respec 
tive  journals  concerning  the  good  Samaritan 
with  the  thousand  dozen  eggs,  the  good 
Samaritan  was  hurrying  back  to  the  Swede 
at  Linderman. 

"  Here,  you  !  Gimme  that  boat !  "  was  his 
salutation,  his  hand  jingling  the  correspond 
ents'  gold  pieces  and  his  eyes  hungrily  bent 
upon  the  finished  craft. 

The  Swede  regarded  him  stolidly  and  shook 
his  head. 

"  How  much  is  the  other  fellow  paying  ? 
Three  hundred?  Well,  here's  four.  Take 
it." 

He  tried  to  press  it  upon  him,  but  the 
man  backed  away. 


146     THE   ONE   THOUSAND    DOZEN 

"  Ay  tank  not.  Ay  say  him  get  der  skiff 
boat.  You  yust  wait  —  " 

"  Here's  six  hundred.  Last  call.  Take  it 
or  leave  it.  Tell'm  it's  a  mistake." 

The  Swede  wavered.  "  Ay  tank  yes,"  he 
finally  said,  and  the  last  Rasmunsen  saw  of 
him  his  vocabulary  was  going  to  wreck  in  a 
vain  effort  to  explain  the  mistake  to  the  other 
fellows. 

The  German  slipped  and  broke  his  ankle 
on  the  steep  hogback  above  Deep  Lake,  sold 
out  his  stock  for  a  dollar  a  dozen,  and  with 
the  proceeds  hired  Indian  packers  to  carry 
him  back  to  Dyea.  But  on  the  morning 
Rasmunsen  shoved  off  with  his  correspond 
ents,  his  two  rivals  followed  suit. 

"How  many  you  got?"  one  of  them,  a 
lean  little  New  Englander,^  called  out. 

"One  thousand  dozen,"  Rasmunsen  an 
swered  proudly. 

"  Huh  !  I'll  go  you  even  stakes  I  beat 
you  in  with  my  eight  hundred." 

The  correspondents  offered  to  lend  him 
the  money;  but  Rasmunsen  declined,  and  the 


THE   ONE   THOUSAND    DOZEN     147 

Yankee  closed  with  the  remaining  rival,  a 
brawny  son  of  the  sea  and  sailor  of  ships 
and  things,  who  promised  to  show  them  all 
a  wrinkle  or  two  when  it  came  to  cracking 
on.  And  crack  on  he  did,  with  a  large  tar 
paulin  squaresail  which  pressed  the  bow  half 
under  at  every  jump.  He  was  the  first  to 
run  out  of  Linderman,  but,  disdaining  the 
portage,  piled  his  loaded  boat  on  the  rocks 
in  the  boiling  rapids.  Rasmunsen  and  the 
Yankee,  who  likewise  had  two  passengers, 
portaged  across  on  their  backs  and  then 
lined  their  empty  boats  down  through  the 
bad  water  to  Bennett. 

Bennett  was  a  twenty-five-mile  lake,  nar 
row  and  deep,  a  funnel  between  the  moun 
tains  through  which  storms  ever  romped. 
Rasmunsen  camped  on  the  sand-pit  at  its  head, 
where  were  many  men  and  boats  bound  north 
in  the  teeth  of  the  Arctic  winter.  He  awoke 
in  the  morning  to  find  a  piping  gale  from 
the  south,  which  caught  the  chill  from  the 
whited  peaks  and  glacial  valleys  and  blew  as 
cold  as  north  wind  ever  blew.  But  it  was 


148     THE    ONE   THOUSAND    DOZEN 

fair,  and  he  also  found  the  Yankee  staggering 
past  the  first  bold  headland  with  all  sail  set. 
Boat  after  boat  was  getting  under  way,  and 
the  correspondents  fell  to  with  enthusiasm. 

"We'll  catch  him  before  Cariboo  Cross 
ing,"  they  assured  Rasmunsen,  as  they  ran  up 
the  sail  and  the  Alma  took  the  first  icy  spray 
over  her  bow. 

Now  Rasmunsen  all  his  life  had  been  prone 
to  cowardice  on  water,  but  he  clung  to  the 
kicking  steering-oar  with  set  face  and  deter 
mined  jaw.  His  thousand  dozen  were  there 
in  the  boat  before  his  eyes,  safely  secured 
beneath  the  correspondents'  baggage,  and 
somehow,  before  his  eyes,  were  the  little 
cottage  and  the  mortgage  for  a  thousand 
dollars. 

It  was  bitter  cold.  Now  and  again  he 
hauled  in  the  steering-sweep  and  put  out 
a  fresh  one  while  his  passengers  chopped  the 
ice  from  the  blade.  Wherever  the  spray 
struck,  it  turned  instantly  to  frost,  and  the 
dipping  boom  of  the  spritsail  was  quickly 
fringed  with  icicles.  The  Alma  strained  and 


THE   ONE    THOUSAND    DOZEN     149 

hammered  through  the  big  seas  till  the  seams 
and  butts  began  to  spread,  but  in  lieu  of  bail 
ing  the  correspondents  chopped  ice  and  flung 
it  overboard.  There  was  no  let-up.  The 
mad  race  with  winter  was  on,  and  the  boats 
tore  along  in  a  desperate  string. 

<c  W-w-we  can't  stop  to  save  our  souls ! " 
one  of  the  correspondents  chattered,  from  cold, 
not  fright. 

"  That's  right !  Keep  her  down  the  middle, 
old  man ! "  the  other  encouraged. 

Rasmunsen  replied  with  an  idiotic  grin. 
The  iron-bound  shores  were  in  a  lather  of 
foam,  and  even  down  the  middle  the  only 
hope  was  to  keep  running  away  from  the  big 
seas.  To  lower  sail  was  to  be  overtaken  and 
swamped.  Time  and  again  they  passed  boats 
pounding  among  the  rocks,  and  once  they  saw 
one  on  the  edge  of  the  breakers  about  to 
strike.  A  little  craft  behind  them,  with  two 
men,  jibed  over  and  turned  bottom  up. 

"  W-w-watch  out,  old  man ! "  cried  he  of 
the  chattering  teeth. 

Rasmunsen  grinned  and  tightened  his  aching 


150     THE    ONE   THOUSAND    DOZEN 

grip  on  the  sweep.  Scores  of  times  had  the 
send  of  the  sea  caught  the  big  square  stern  of 
the  Alma  and  thrown  her  off  from  dead  before 
it  till  the  after  leach  of  the  spritsail  fluttered 
hollowly,  and  each  time,  and  only  with  all  his 
strength,  had  he  forced  her  back.  His  grin 
by  then  had  become  fixed,  and  it  disturbed 
the  correspondents  to  look  at  him. 

They  roared  down  past  an  isolated  rock  a 
hundred  yards  from  shore.  From  its  wave- 
drenched  top  a  man  shrieked  wildly,  for  the 
instant  cutting  the  storm  with  his  voice.  But 
the  next  instant  the  Alma  was  by,  and  the  rock 
growing  a  black  speck  in  the  troubled  froth. 

"That  settles  the  Yankee!  Where's  the 
sailor  ?  "  shouted  one  of  his  passengers. 

Rasmunsen  shot  a  glance  over  his  shoulder 
at  a  black  squaresail.  He  had  seen  it  leap 
up  out  of  the  gray  to  windward,  and  for  an 
hour,  off  and  on,  had  been  watching  it  grow. 
The  sailor  had  evidently  repaired  damages  and 
was  making  up  for  lost  time. 

"  Look  at  him  come  !  " 

Both    passengers    stopped    chopping   ice    to 


THE    ONE    THOUSAND    DOZEN     151 

watch.  Twenty  miles  of  Bennett  were  behind 
them  —  room  and  to  spare  for  the  sea  to  toss 
up  its  mountains  toward  the  sky.  Sinking 
and  soaring  like  a  storm  god,  the  sailor  drove 
by  them.  The  huge  sail  seemed  to  grip  the 
boat  from  the  crests  of  the  waves,  to  tear  it 
bodily  out  of  the  water,  and  fling  it  crashing 
and  smothering  down  into  the  yawning  troughs. 
"  The  sea'll  never  catch  him  !  " 
"  But  he'll  r-r-run  her  nose  under !  " 
Even  as  they  spoke,  the  black  tarpaulin 
swooped  from  sight  behind  a  big  comber. 
The  next  wave  rolled  over  the  spot,  and  the 
next,  but  the  boat  did  not  reappear.  The 
Alma  rushed  by  the  place.  A  little  riffraff 
of  oars  and  boxes  was  seen.  An  arm  thrust 
up  and  a  shaggy  head  broke  surface  a  score  of 
yards  away. 

For  a  time  there  was  silence.  As  the  end 
of  the  lake  came  in  sight,  the  waves  began  to 
leap  aboard  with  such  steady  recurrence  that 
the  correspondents  no  longer  chopped  ice  but 
flung  the  water  out  with  buckets.  Even  this 
would  not  do,  and,  after  a  shouted  conference 


152      THE    ONE   THOUSAND    DOZEN 

with  Rasmunsen,  they  attacked  the  baggage. 
Flour,  bacon,  beans,  blankets,  cooking  stove, 
ropes,  odds  and  ends,  everything  they  could 
get  hands  on,  flew  overboard.  The  boat 
acknowledged  it  at  once,  taking  less  water  and 
rising  more  buoyantly. 

"  That'll  do  ! "  Rasmunsen  called  sternly, 
as  they  applied  themselves  to  the  top  layer 
of  eggs. 

"  The  h-hell  it  will !  "  answered  the  shiver 
ing  one,  savagely.  With  the  exception  of  their 
notes,  films,  and  cameras,  they  had  sacrificed 
their  outfit.  He  bent  over,  laid  hold  of  an 
egg-box,  and  began  to  worry  it  out  from  under 
the  lashing. 

"  Drop  it !     Drop  it,  I  say  !  " 

Rasmunsen  had  managed  to  draw  his  re 
volver,  and  with  the  crook  of  his  arm  over  the 
sweep  head  was  taking  aim.  The  correspond 
ent  stood  up  on  the  thwart,  balancing  back 
and  forth,  his  face  twisted  with  menace  and 
speechless  anger. 

"  My  God  !  " 

So  cried  his  brother  correspondent,  hurling 


THE    ONE   THOUSAND    DOZEN     153 

himself,  face  downward,  into  the  bottom  of 
the  boat.  The  Alma,  under  the  divided  atten 
tion  of  Rasmunsen,  had  been  caught  by  a  great 
mass  of  water  and  whirled  around.  The  after 
leach  hollowed,  the  sail  emptied  and  jibed,  and 
the  boom,  sweeping  with  terrific  force  across 
the  boat,  carried  the  angry  correspondent 
overboard  with  a  broken  back.  Mast  and 
sail  had  gone  over  the  side  as  well.  A 
drenching  sea  followed,  as  the  boat  lost 
headway,  and  Rasmunsen  sprang  to  the 
bailing  bucket. 

Several  boats  hurtled  past  them  in  the  next 
half-hour,  —  small  boats,  boats  of  their  own 
size,  boats  afraid,  unable  to  do  aught  but  run 
madly  on.  Then  a  ten-ton  barge,  at  imminent 
risk  of  destruction,  lowered  sail  to  windward 
and  lumbered  down  upon  them. 

"Keep  off!  Keep  off! "  Rasmunsen 
screamed. 

But  his  low  gunwale  ground  against  the 
heavy  craft,  and  the  remaining  correspondent 
clambered  aboard.  Rasmunsen  was  over  the 
eggs  like  a  cat  and  in  the  bow  of  the  Alma, 


I54     THE    ONE    THOUSAND    DOZEN 

striving  with  numb  fingers  to  bend  the  hauling- 
lines  together. 

"  Come  on  !  "  a  red-whiskered  man  yelled 
at  him. 

"I've  a  thousand  dozen  eggs  here,"  he 
shouted  back.  "Gimme  a  tow!  I'll  pay 
you  !  " 

"  Come  on  !  "  they  howled  in  chorus. 

A  big  whitecap  broke  just  beyond,  washing 
over  the  barge  and  leaving  the  Alma  half 
swamped.  The  men  cast  off,  cursing  him  as 
they  ran  up  their  sail.  Rasmunsen  cursed 
back  and  fell  to  bailing.  The  mast  and  sail, 
like  a  sea  anchor,  still  fast  by  the  halyards,  held 
the  boat  head  on  to  wind  and  sea  and  gave  him 
a  chance  to  fight  the  water  out. 

Three  hours  later,  numbed,  exhausted, 
blathering  like  a  lunatic,  but  still  bailing,  he 
went  ashore  on  an  ice-strewn  beach  near  Car 
iboo  Crossing.  Two  men,  a  government 
courier  and  a  half-breed  voyageur,  dragged 
him  out  of  the  surf,  saved  his  cargo,  and 
beached  the  Alma.  They  were  paddling  out 
of  the  country  in  a  Peterborough,  and  gave 


THE    ONE   THOUSAND    DOZEN     155 

him  shelter  for  the  night  in  their  storm-bound 
camp.  Next  morning  they  departed,  but  he 
elected  to  stay  by  his  eggs.  And  thereafter 
the  name  and  fame  of  the  man  with  the  thou 
sand  dozen  eggs  began  to  spread  through  the 
land.  Gold-seekers  who  made  in  before  the 
freeze-up  carried  the  news  of  his  coming. 
Grizzled  old-timers  of  Forty  Mile  and  Circle 
City,  sour  doughs  with  leathern  jaws  and  bean- 
calloused  stomachs,  called  up  dream  memories 
of  chickens  and  green  things  at  mention  of 
his  name.  Dyea  and  Skaguay  took  an  interest 
in  his  being,  and  questioned  his  progress  from 
every  man  who  came  over  the  passes,  while 
Dawson — golden,  omeletless  Dawson — fretted 
and  worried,  and  waylaid  every  chance  arrival 
for  word  of  him. 

But  of  this,  Rasmunsen  knew  nothing.  The 
day  after  the  wreck  he  patched  up  the  Alma 
and  pulled  out.  A  cruel  east  wind  blew  in  his 
teeth  from  Tagish,  but  he  got  the  oars  over 
the  side  and  bucked  manfully  into  it,  though 
half  the  time  he  was  drifting  backward  and 
chopping  ice  from  the  blades.  According  to 


156     THE    ONE    THOUSAND    DOZEN 

the  custom  of  the  country,  he  was  driven 
ashore  at  Windy  Arm  ;  three  times  on  Tagish 
saw  him  swamped  and  beached ;  and  Lake 
Marsh  held  him  at  the  freeze-up.  The  Alma 
was  crushed  in  the  jamming  of  the  floes,  but 
the  eggs  were  intact.  These  he  back-tripped 
two  miles  across  the  ice  to  the  shore,  where  he 
built  a  cache,  which  stood  for  years  after  and 
was  pointed  out  by  men  who  knew. 

Haifa  thousand  frozen  miles  stretched  between 
him  and  Dawson,  and  the  waterway  was  closed. 
But  Rasmunsen,  with  a  peculiar  tense  look 
in  his  face,  struck  back  up  the  lakes  on  foot. 
What  he  suffered  on  that  lone  trip,  with  naught 
but  a  single  blanket,  an  axe,  and  a  handful  of 
beans,  is  not  given  to  ordinary  mortals  to 
know.  Only  the  Arctic  adventurer  may  under 
stand.  Suffice  that  he  was  caught  in  a  blizzard 
on  Chilkoot  and  left  two  of  his  toes  with  the 
surgeon  at  Sheep  Camp.  Yet  he  stood  on  his 
feet  and  washed  dishes  in  the  scullery  of  the 
Pawona  to  the  Puget  Sound,  and  from  there 
passed  coal  on  a  P.  S.  boat  to  San  Francisco. 

It  was  a  haggard,  unkempt  man  who  limped 


THE    ONE    THOUSAND    DOZEN     157 

across  the  shining  office  floor  to  raise  a  second 
mortgage  from  the  bank  people.  His  hollow 
cheeks  betrayed  themselves  through  the 
scraggly  beard,  and  his  eyes  seemed  to  have 
retired  into  deep  caverns  where  they  burned 
with  cold  fires.  His  hands  were  grained  from 
exposure  and  hard  work,  and  the  nails  were 
rimmed  with  tight-packed  dirt  and  coal  dust. 
He  spoke  vaguely  of  eggs  and  ice-packs,  winds 
and  tides ;  but  when  they  declined  to  let  him 
have  more  than  a  second  thousand,  his  talk 
became  incoherent,  concerning  itself  chiefly 
with  the  price  of  dogs  and  dog-food,  and  such 
things  as  snowshoes  and  moccasins  and  winter 
trails.  They  let  him  have  fifteen  hundred, 
which  was  more  than  the  cottage  warranted, 
and  breathed  easier  when  he  scrawled  his  signa 
ture  and  passed  out  the  door. 

Two  weeks  later  he  went  over  Chilkoot  with 
three  dog  sleds  of  five  dogs  each.  One  team 
he  drove,  the  two  Indians  with  him  driving 
the  others.  At  Lake  Marsh  they  broke  out 
the  cache  and  loaded  up.  But  there  was  no 
trail.  He  was  the  first  in  over  the  ice,  and  to 


158     THE    ONE   THOUSAND    DOZEN 

him  fell  the  task  of  packing  the  snow  and 
hammering  away  through  the  rough  river  jams. 
Behind  him  he  often  observed  a  camp-fire 
smoke  trickling  thinly  up  through  the  quiet 
air,  and  he  wondered  why  the  people  did  not 
overtake  him.  For  he  was  a  stranger  to  the 
land  and  did  not  understand.  Nor  could  he 
understand  his  Indians  when  they  tried  to 
explain.  This  they  conceived  to  be  a  hardship, 
but  when  they  balked  and  refused  to  break 
camp  of  mornings,  he  drove  them  to  their 
work  at  pistol  point. 

When  he  slipped  through  an  ice  bridge  near 
the  White  Horse  and  froze  his  foot,  tender 
yet  and  oversensitive  from  the  previous  freez 
ing,  the  Indians  looked  for  him  to  lie  up. 
But  he  sacrificed  a  blanket,  and,  with  his  foot 
incased  in  an  enormous  moccasin,  big  as  a 
water-bucket,  continued  to  take  his  regular 
turn  with  the  front  sled.  Here  was  the  cruel- 
est  work,  and  they  respected  him,  though  on 
the  side  they  rapped  their  foreheads  with  their 
knuckles  and  significantly  shook  their  heads. 
One  night  they  tried  to  run  away,  but  the  zip- 


THE    ONE   THOUSAND    DOZEN     159 

zip  of  his  bullets  in  the  snow  brought  them 
back,  snarling  but  convinced.  Whereupon, 
being  only  savage  Chilkat  men,  they  put  their 
heads  together  to  kill  him ;  but  he  slept  like 
a  cat,  and,  waking  or  sleeping,  the  chance  never 
came.  Often  they  tried  to  tell  him  the  im 
port  of  the  smoke  wreath  in  the  rear,  but  he 
could  not  comprehend  and  grew  suspicious  of 
them.  And  when  they  sulked  or  shirked,  he 
was  quick  to  let  drive  at  them  between  the 
eyes,  and  quick  to  cool  their  heated  souls  with 
sight  of  his  ready  revolver. 

And  so  it  went  —  with  mutinous  men,  wild 
dogs,  and  a  trail  that  broke  the  heart.  He 
fought  the  men  to  stay  with  him,  fought  the 
dogs  to  keep  them  away  from  the  eggs,  fought 
the  ice,  the  cold,  and  the  pain  of  his  foot,  which 
would  not  heal.  As  fast  as  the  young  tissue 
renewed,  it  was  bitten  and  seared  by  the  frost, 
so  that  a  running  sore  developed,  into  which 
he  could  almost  shove  his  fist.  In  the  morn 
ings,  when  he  first  put  his  weight  upon  it,  his 
head  went  dizzy,  and  he  was  near  to  fainting 
from  the  pain ;  but  later  on  in  the  day  it 


i6o     THE    ONE    THOUSAND    DOZEN 

usually  grew  numb,  to  recommence  when  he 
crawled  into  his  blankets  and  tried  to  sleep. 
Yet  he,  who  had  been  a  clerk  and  sat  at  a  desk 
all  his  days,  toiled  till  the  Indians  were  ex 
hausted,  and  even  outworked  the  dogs.  How 
hard  he  worked,  how  much  he  suffered,  he  did 
not  know.  Being  a  man  of  the  one  idea,  now 
that  the  idea  had  come,  it  mastered  him.  In 
the  foreground  of  his  consciousness  was  Daw- 
son,  in  the  background  his  thousand  dozen 
eggs,  and  midway  between  the  two  his  ego 
fluttered,  striving  alway  to  draw  them  together 
to  a  glittering  golden  point.  This  golden 
point  was  the  five  thousand  dollars,  the  con 
summation  of  the  idea  and  the  point  of  depar 
ture  for  whatever  new  idea  might  present 
itself.  For  the  rest,  he  was  a  mere  automaton. 
He  was  unaware  of  other  things,  seeing  them 
as  through  a  glass  darkly,  and  giving  them  no 
thought.  The  work  of  his  hands  he  did  with 
machine-like  wisdom  ;  likewise  the  work  of  his 
head.  So  the  look  on  his  face  grew  very  tense, 
till  even  the  Indians  were  afraid  of  it,  and 
marvelled  at  the  strange  white  man  who  had 


THE    ONE    THOUSAND    DOZEN     161 

made  them  slaves  and  forced  them  to  toil  with 
such  foolishness. 

Then  came  a  snap  on  Lake  Le  Barge,  when 
the  cold  of  outer  space  smote  the  tip  of  the 
planet,  and  the  frost  ranged  sixty  and  odd 
degrees  below  zero.  Here,  laboring  with 
open  mouth  that  he  might  breathe  more 
freely,  he  chilled  his  lungs,  and  for  the  rest 
of  the  trip  he  was  troubled  with  a  dry,  hack 
ing  cough,  especially  irritable  in  smoke  of 
camp  or  under  stress  of  undue  exertion.  On 
the  Thirty  Mile  river  he  found  much  open 
water,  spanned  by  precarious  ice  bridges  and 
fringed  with  narrow  rim  ice,  tricky  and  uncer 
tain.  The  rim  ice  was  impossible  to  reckon 
on,  and  he  dared  it  without  reckoning,  falling 
back  on  his  revolver  when  his  drivers  de 
murred,  But  on  the  ice  bridges,  covered 
with  snow  though  they  were,  precautions 
could  be  taken.  These  they  crossed  on  their 
snowshoes,  with  long  poles,  held  crosswise  in 
their  hands,  to  which  to  cling  in  case  of  acci 
dent.  Once  over,  the  dogs  were  called  to 
follow.  And  on  such  a  bridge,  where  the 


162     THE   ONE   THOUSAND    DOZEN 

absence  of  the  centre  ice  was  masked  by  the 
snow,  one  of  the  Indians  met  his  end.  He 
went  through  as  quickly  and  neatly  as  a  knife 
through  thin  cream,  and  the  current  swept 
him  from  view  down  under  the  stream  ice. 

That  night  his  mate  fled  away  through  the 
pale  moonlight,  Rasmunsen  futilely  puncturing 
the  silence  with  his  revolver  —  a  thing  that  he 
handled  with  more  celerity  than  cleverness. 
Thirty-six  hours  later  the  Indian  made  a 
police  camp  on  the  Big  Salmon. 

"  Um  —  um  —  um  funny  mans  —  what  you 
call  ?  —  top  um  head  all  loose,"  the  inter 
preter  explained  to  the  puzzled  captain.  "  Eh  ? 
Yep,  clazy,  much  clazy  mans.  Eggs,  eggs, 
all  a  time  eggs  —  savvy?  Come  bime-by." 

It  was  several  days  before  Rasmunsen  ar 
rived,  the  three  sleds  lashed  together,  and  all 
the  dogs  in  a  single  team.  It  was  awkward, 
and  where  the  going  was  bad  he  was  com 
pelled  to  back-trip  it  sled  by  sled,  though 
he  managed  most  of  the  time,  through  her 
culean  efforts,  to  bring  all  along  on  the  one 
haul.  He  did  not  seem  moved  when  the 


THE    ONE   THOUSAND    DOZEN     163 

captain  of  police  told  him  his  man  was  hit 
ting  the  high  places  for  Dawson,  and  was  by 
that  time,  probably,  halfway  between  Selkirk 
and  Stewart.  Nor  did  he  appear  interested 
when  informed  that  the  police  had  broken 
the  trail  as  far  as  Pelly ;  for  he  had  attained 
to  a  fatalistic  acceptance  of  all  natural  dis 
pensations,  good  or  ill.  But  when  they  told 
him  that  Dawson  was  in  the  bitter  clutch  of 
famine,  he  smiled,  threw  the  harness  on  his 
dogs,  and  pulled  out. 

But  it  was  at  his  next  halt  that  the  mys 
tery  of  the  smoke  was  explained.  With  the 
word  at  Big  Salmon  that  the  trail  was  broken 
to  Pelly,  there  was  no  longer  any  need  for 
the  smoke  wreath  to  linger  in  his  wake ;  and 
Rasmunsen,  crouching  over  his  lonely  fire, 
saw  a  motley  string  of  sleds  go  by.  First 
came  the  courier  and  the  half-breed  who  had 
hauled  him  out  from  Bennett;  then  mail-carriers 
for  Circle  City,  two  sleds  of  them,  and  a  mixed 
following  of  ingoing  Klondikers.  Dogs  and 
men  were  fresh  and  fat,  while  Rasmunsen 
and  his  brutes  were  jaded  and  worn  down 


164     THE    ONE    THOUSAND    DOZEN 

to  the  skin  and  bone.  They  of  the  smoke 
wreath  had  travelled  one  day  in  three,  resting 
and  reserving  their  strength  for  the  dash  to 
come  when  broken  trail  was  met  with ;  while 
each  day  he  had  plunged  and  floundered  for 
ward,  breaking  the  spirit  of  his  dogs  and 
robbing  them  of  their  mettle. 

As  for  himself,  he  was  unbreakable.  They 
thanked  him  kindly  for  his  efforts  in  their 
behalf,  those  fat,  fresh  men,  —  thanked  him 
kindly,  with  broad  grins  and  ribald  laugh 
ter  ;  and  now,  when  he  understood,  he  made 
no  answer.  Nor  did  he  cherish  silent  bitter 
ness.  It  was  immaterial.  The  idea  —  the 
fact  behind  the  idea  —  was  not  changed. 
Here  he  was  and  his  thousand  dozen;  there 
was  Dawson ;  the  problem  was  unaltered. 

At  the  Little  Salmon,  being  short  of  dog 
food,  the  dogs  got  into  his  grub,  and  from 
there  to  Selkirk  he  lived  on  beans  —  coarse, 
brown  beans,  big  beans,  grossly  nutritive, 
which  griped  his  stomach  and  doubled  him 
up  at  two-hour  intervals.  But  the  Factor  at 
Selkirk  had  a  notice  on  the  door  of  the  Post 


THE    ONE   THOUSAND    DOZEN     165 

to  the  effect  that  no  steamer  had  been  up 
the  Yukon  for  two  years,  and  in  consequence 
grub  was  beyond  price.  He  offered  to  swap 
flour,  however,  at  the  rate  of  a  cupful  for  each 
egg,  but  Rasmunsen  shook  his  head  and  hit 
the  trail.  Below  the  Post  he  managed  to  buy 
frozen  horse  hide  for  the  dogs,  the  horses 
having  been  slain  by  the  Chilkat  cattle  men, 
and  the  scraps  and  offal  preserved  by  the 
Indians.  He  tackled  the  hide  himself,  but 
the  hair  worked  into  the  bean  sores  of  his 
mouth,  and  was  beyond  endurance. 

Here  at  Selkirk,  he  met  the  forerunners  of 
the  hungry  exodus  of  Dawson,  and  from  there 
on  they  crept  over  the  trail,  a  dismal  throng. 
"  No  grub  !  "  was  the  song  they  sang.  "  No 
grub,  and  had  to  go."  "  Everybody  holding 
candles  for  a  rise  in  the  spring."  "  Flour 
dollar'n  a  half  a  pound,  and  no  sellers." 

"  Eggs  -?  "  one  of  them  answered.  "  Dollar 
apiece,  but  they  ain't  none." 

Rasmunsen  made  a  rapid  calculation. 
"  Twelve  thousand  dollars,"  he  said  aloud. 

"  Hey  ?  "  the  man  asked. 


166     THE    ONE    THOUSAND    DOZEN 

"  Nothing/'  he  answered,  and  mushed  the 
dogs  along. 

When  he  arrived  at  Stewart  River,  seventy 
miles  from  Dawson,  five  of  his  dogs  were 
gone,  and  the  remainder  were  falling  in  the 
traces.  He,  also,  was  in  the  traces,  hauling 
with  what  little  strength  was  left  in  him. 
Even  then  he  was  barely  crawling  along  ten 
miles  a  day.  His  cheek-bones  and  nose,  frost 
bitten  again  and  again,  were  turned  bloody- 
black  and  hideous.  The  thumb,  which  was 
separated  from  the  fingers  by  the  gee-pole, 
had  likewise  been  nipped  and  gave  him  great 
pain.  The  monstrous  moccasin  still  incased 
his  foot,  and  strange  pains  were  beginning  to 
rack  the  leg.  At  Sixty  Mile,  the  last  beans, 
which  he  had  been  rationing  for  some  time,  were 
finished;  yet  he  steadfastly  refused  to  touch 
the  eggs.  He  could  not  reconcile  his  mind 
to  the  legitimacy  of  it,  and  staggered  and  fell 
along  the  way  to  Indian  River.  Here  a  fresh- 
killed  moose  and  an  open-handed  old-timer 
gave  him  and  his  dogs  new  strength,  and  at 
Ainslie's  he  felt  repaid  for  it  all  when  a  stam- 


THE    ONE   THOUSAND    DOZEN     167 

pede,  ripe  from  Dawson  in  five  hours,  was 
sure  he  could  get  a  dollar  and  a  quarter  for 
every  egg  he  possessed. 

He  came  up  the  steep  bank  by  the  Daw- 
son  barracks  with  fluttering  heart  and  shaking 
knees.  The  dogs  were  so  weak  that  he  was 
forced  to  rest  them,  and,  waiting,  he  leaned 
limply  against  the  gee-pole.  A  man,  an 
eminently  decorous-looking  man,  came  saun 
tering  by  in  a  great  bearskin  coat.  He 
glanced  at  Rasmunsen  curiously,  then  stopped 
and  ran  a  speculative  eye  over  the  dogs  and 
the  three  lashed  sleds. 

"  What  you  got?  "  he  asked. 

"  -Eggs>"  Rasmunsen  answered  huskily, 
hardly  able  to  pitch  his  voice  above  a 
whisper. 

"Eggs!  Whoopee!  Whoopee!"  He 
sprang  up  into  the  air,  gyrated  madly,  and 
finished  with  half  a  dozen  war  steps.  "  You 
don't  say  —  all  of  'em?" 

"All  of 'em?" 

"  Say,  you  must  be  the  Egg  Man."  He 
walked  around  and  viewed  Rasmunsen  from 


168     THE    ONE   THOUSAND    DOZEN 

the  other  side.  "  Come,  now,  ain't  you  the 
Egg  Man  ? " 

Rasmunsen  didn't  know,  but  supposed  he 
was,  and  the  man  sobered  down  a  bit. 

"What  d'ye  expect  to  get  for  'em  ? "  he 
asked  cautiously. 

Rasmunsen  became  audacious.  "  Dollar'n  a 
half,"  he  said. 

"  Done ! "  the  man  came  back  promptly. 
"  Gimme  a  dozen." 

"I  —  I  mean  a  dollar'n  a  half  apiece," 
Rasmunsen  hesitatingly  explained. 

"  Sure.  I  heard  you.  Make  it  two  dozen. 
Here's  the  dust." 

The  man  pulled  out  a  healthy  gold  sack  the 
size  of  a  small  sausage  and  knocked  it  negli 
gently  against  the  gee-pole.  Rasmunsen  felt 
a  strange  trembling  in  the  pit  of  his  stomach, 
a  tickling  of  the  nostrils,  and  an  almost  over 
whelming  desire  to  sit  down  and  cry.  But  a 
curious,  wide-eyed  crowd  was  beginning  to 
collect,  and  man  after  man  was  calling  out  for 
eggs.  He  was  without  scales,  but  the  man 
with  the  bearskin  coat  fetched  a  pair  and 


THE   ONE   THOUSAND    DOZEN     169 

obligingly  weighed  in  the  dust  while  Rasmun- 
sen  passed  out  the  goods.  Soon  there  was  a 
pushing  and  shoving  and  shouldering,  and  a 
great  clamor.  Everybody  wanted  to  buy  and 
to  be  served  first.  And  as  the  excitement 
grew,  Rasmunsen  cooled  down.  This  would 
never  do.  There  must  be  something  behind 
the  fact  of  their  buying  so  eagerly.  It  would 
be  wiser  if  he  rested  first  and  sized  up  the 
market.  Perhaps  eggs  were  worth  two  dollars 
apiece.  Anyway,  whenever  he  wished  to  sell, 
he  was  sure  of  a  dollar  and  a  half.  "  Stop  !  " 
he  cried,  when  a  couple  of  hundred  had  been 
sold.  "  No  more  now.  Fm  played  out.  Fve 
got  to  get  a  cabin,  and  then  you  can  come 
and  see  me." 

A  groan  went  up  at  this,  but  the  man 
with  the  bearskin  coat  approved.  Twenty- 
four  of  the  frozen  eggs  went  rattling  in  his 
capacious  pockets  and  he  didn't  care  whether 
the  rest  of  the  town  ate  or  not.  Besides,  he 
could  see  Rasmunsen  was  on  his  last  legs. 

"There's  a  cabin  right  around  the  second 
corner  from  the  Monte  Carlo,"  he  told  him  — 


170     THE    ONE   THOUSAND    DOZEN 

"  the  one  with  the  sody-bottle  window.  It 
ain't  mine,  but  I've  got  charge  of  it.  Rents 
for  ten  a  day  and  cheap  for  the  money.  You 
move  right  in,  and  I'll  see  you  later.  Don't 
forget  the  sody-bottle  window." 

"  Tra-la-loo !  "  he  called  back  a  moment 
later.  "  I'm  goin'  up  the  hill  to  eat  eggs  and 
dream  of  home." 

On  his  way  to  the  cabin,  Rasmunsen 
recollected  he  was  hungry  and  bought  a  small 
supply  of  provisions  at  the  N.  A.  T.  &  T. 
store  —  also  a  beefsteak  at  the  butcher  shop 
and  dried  salmon  for  the  dogs.  He  found 
the  cabin  without  difficulty  and  left  the  dogs 
in  the  harness  while  he  started  the  fire  and 
got  the  coffee  under  way. 

"A  dollar'n  a  half  apiece  —  one  thousand 
dozen  —  eighteen  thousand  dollars!"  He 
kept  muttering  it  to  himself,  over  and  over, 
as  he  went  about  his  work. 

As  he  flopped  the  steak  into  the  frying- 
pan  the  door  opened.  He  turned.  It  was 
the  man  with  the  bearskin  coat.  He  seemed 
to  come  in  with  determination,  as  though 


THE   ONE   THOUSAND    DOZEN     171 

bound  on  some  explicit  errand,  but  as  he 
looked  at  Rasmunsen  an  expression  of  per 
plexity  came  into  his  face. 

"I  say  —  now  I  say  — "  he  began,  then 
halted. 

Rasmunsen  wondered  if  he  wanted  the 
rent. 

"I  say,  damn  it,  you  know,  them  eggs  is 
bad." 

Rasmunsen  staggered.  He  felt  as  though 
some  one  had  struck  him  an  astounding  blow 
between  the  eyes.  The  walls  of  the  cabin 
reeled  and  tilted  up.  He  put  out  his  hand 
to  steady  himself  and  rested  it  on  the  stove. 
The  sharp  pain  and  the  smell  of  the  burning 
flesh  brought  him  back  to  himself. 

cc  I  see,"  he  said  slowly,  fumbling  in  his 
pocket  for  the  sack.  "  You  want  your  money 
back." 

"  It  ain't  the  money,"  the  man  said,  "  but 
hain't  you  got  any  eggs  —  good  ?  " 

Rasmunsen  shook  his  head.  "  You'd  better 
take  the  money." 

But   the   man    refused    and    backed    away. 


172     THE    ONE    THOUSAND    DOZEN 

"Til  come  back,"  he  said,  "when  you've 
taken  stock,  and  get  what's  comin'." 

Rasmunsen  rolled  the  chopping-block  into 
the  cabin  and  carried  in  the  eggs.  He  went 
about  it  quite  calmly.  He  took  up  the  hand- 
axe,  and,  one  by  one,  chopped  the  eggs  in  half. 
These  halves  he  examined  carefully  and  let  fall 
to  the  floor.  At  first  he  sampled  from  the 
different  cases,  then  deliberately  emptied  one 
case  at  a  time.  The  heap  on  the  floor  grew 
larger.  The  coffee  boiled  over  and  the  smoke 
of  the  burning  beefsteak  filled  the  cabin.  He 
chopped  steadfastly  and  monotonously  till  the 
last  case  was  finished. 

Somebody  knocked  at  the  door,  knocked 
again,  and  let  himself  in. 

"  What  a  mess  !  "  he  remarked,  as  he  paused 
and  surveyed  the  scene. 

The  severed  eggs  were  beginning  to  thaw 
in  the  heat  of  the  stove,  and  a  miserable  odor 
was  growing  stronger. 

"  Must  a-happened  on  the  steamer,"  he 
suggested. 

Rasmunsen  looked  at  him  long  and  blankly. 


THE    ONE   THOUSAND    DOZEN     173 

"  I'm  Murray,  Big  Jim  Murray,  everybody 
knows  me,"  the  man  volunteered.  cc  I'm  just 
hearin'  your  eggs  is  rotten,  and  I'm  offerin' 
you  two  hundred  for  the  batch.  They  ain't 
good  as  salmon,  but  still  they're  fair  scoffin's 
for  dogs." 

Rasmunsen  seemed  turned  to  stone.  He 
did  not  move.  "  You  go  to  hell,"  he  said 
passionlessly. 

"Now just  consider.  I  pride  myself  it's  a 
decent  price  for  a  mess  like  that,  and  it's  bet- 
ter'n  nothin'.  Two  hundred.  What  you 
say  ? " 

"You  go  to  hell,"  Rasmunsen  repeated 
softly,  fc  and  get  out  of  here." 

Murray  gaped  with  a  great  awe,  then  went 
out  carefully,  backward,  with  his  eyes  fixed 
on  the  other's  face. 

Rasmunsen  followed  him  out  and  turned 
the  dogs  loose.  He  threw  them  all  the  sal 
mon  he  had  bought,  and  coiled  a  sled-lashing 
up  in  his  hand.  Then  he  reentered  the  cabin 
and  drew  the  latch  in  after  him.  The  smoke 
from  the  cindered  steak  made  his  eyes  smart. 


174     THE    ONE   THOUSAND    DOZEN 

He  stood  on  the  bunk,  passed  the  lashing  over 
the  ridge-pole,  and  measured  the  swing-off 
with  his  eye.  It  did  not  seem  to  satisfy,  for 
he  put  the  stool  on  the  bunk  and  climbed 
upon  the  stool.  He  drove  a  noose  in  the  end 
of  the  lashing  and  slipped  his  head  through. 
The  other  end  he  made  fast.  Then  he  kicked 
the  stool  out  from  under. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    LIT-LIT 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    LIT-LIT1 

WHEN  John  Fox  came  into  a  coun 
try  where  whiskey  freezes  solid  and 
may  be  used  as  a  paper-weight  for  a 
large  part  of  the  year,  he  came  without  the 
ideals  and  illusions  that  usually  hamper  the 
progress  of  more  delicately  nurtured  adven 
turers.  Born  and  reared  on  the  frontier  fringe 
of  the  United  States,  he  took  with  him  into 
Canada  a  primitive  cast  of  mind,  an  elemental 
simplicity  and  grip  on  things,  as  it  were,  that 
insured  him  immediate  success  in  his  new 
career.  From  a  mere  servant  of  the  Hudson's 
Bay  Company,  driving  a  paddle  with  the 
voyageurs  and  carrying  goods  on  his  back 
across  the  portages,  he  swiftly  rose  to  a  Factor- 
ship  and  took  charge  of  a  trading  post  at  Fort 
Angelus. 

Here,  because  of  his  elemental   simplicity, 

1  Copyright,  1903,  by  Frank  Leslie  Publishing  House. 
N  I77 


178      THE   MARRIAGE    OF   LIT-LIT 

he  took  to  himself  a  native  wife,  and,  by 
reason  of  the  connubial  bliss  that  followed, 
he  escaped  the  unrest  and  vain  longings  that 
curse  the  days  of  more  fastidious  men,  spoil 
their  work,  and  conquer  them  in  the  end.  He 
lived  contentedly,  was  at  single  purposes  with 
the  business  he  was  set  there  to  do,  and 
achieved  a  brilliant  record  in  the  service  of 
the  Company.  About  this  time  his  wife  died, 
was  claimed  by  her  people,  and  buried  with 
savage  circumstance  in  a  tin  trunk  in  the  top 
of  a  tree. 

Two  sons  she  had  borne  him,  and  when 
the  Company  promoted  him,  he  journeyed  with 
them  still  deeper  into  the  vastness  of  the 
Northwest  Territory  to  a  place  called  Sin 
Rock,  where  he  took  charge  of  a  new  post  in 
a  more  important  fur  field.  Here  he  spent 
several  lonely  and  depressing  months,  emi 
nently  disgusted  with  the  unprepossessing 
appearance  of  the  Indian  maidens,  and  greatly 
worried  by  his  growing  sons  who  stood  in 
need  of  a  mother's  care.  Then  his  eyes 
chanced  upon  Lit-lit.  „ 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    LIT-LIT      179 

"Lit-lit —  well,  she  is  Lit-lit,"  was  the 
fashion  in  which  he  despairingly  described  her 
to  his  chief  clerk,  Alexander  McLean. 

McLean  was  too  fresh  from  his  Scottish 
upbringing  — "  not  dry  behind  the  ears  yet," 
John  Fox  put  it  —  to  take  to  the  marriage 
customs  of  the  country.  Nevertheless  he  was 
not  averse  to  the  Factor's  imperilling  his  own 
immortal  soul,  and,  especially,  feeling  an  omi 
nous  attraction  himself  for  Lit-lit,  he  was  som 
brely  content  to  clinch  his  own  soul's  safety  by 
seeing  her  married  to  the  Factor. 

Nor  is  it  to  be  wondered  that  McLean's 
austere  Scotch  soul  stood  in  danger  of  being 
thawed  in  the  sunshine  of  Lit-lit's  eyes.  She 
was  pretty,  and  slender,  and  willowy,  without 
the  massive  face  and  temperamental  stolidity 
of  the  average  squaw.  "  Lit-lit,"  so  called 
from  her  fashion,  even  as  a  child,  of  being  flut- 
tery,  of  darting  about  from  place  to  place  like  a 
butterfly,  of  being  inconsequent  and  merry, 
and  of  laughing  as  lightly  as  she  darted  and 
danced  about. 

Lit-lit  was    the    daughter  of  Snettishane,  a 


i8o      THE    MARRIAGE    OF   LIT-LIT 

prominent  chief  in  the  tribe,  by  a  half-breed 
mother,  and  to  him  the  Factor  fared  casually 
one  summer  day  to  open  "negotiations  of  mar 
riage.  He  sat  with  the  chief  in  the  smoke  of 
a  mosquito  smudge  before  his  lodge,  and  to 
gether  they  talked  about  everything  under 
the  sun,  or,  at  least,  everything  that  in  the 
Northland  is  under  the  sun,  with  the  sole 
exception  of  marriage.  John  Fox  had  come 
particularly  to  talk  of  marriage ;  Snettishane 
knew  it,  and  John  Fox  knew  he  knew  it,  where 
fore  the  subject  was  religiously  avoided.  This 
is  alleged  to  be  Indian  subtlety.  In  reality  it  is 
transparent  simplicity. 

The  hours  slipped  by,  and  Fox  and  Snetti 
shane  smoked  interminable  pipes,  looking  each 
other  in  the  eyes  with  a  guilelessness  superbly 
histrionic.  In  the  mid-afternoon  McLean  and 
his  brother  clerk,  McTavish,  strolled  past,  in 
nocently  uninterested,  on  their  way  to  the 
river.  When  they  strolled  back  again  an 
hour  later,  Fox  and  Snettishane  had  attained 
to  a  ceremonious  discussion  of  the  condition 
and  quality  of  the  gunpowder  and  bacon  which 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF   LIT-LIT      181 

the  Company  was  offering  in  trade.  Mean 
while  Lit-lit,  divining  the  Factor's  errand,  had 
crept  in  under  the  rear  wall  of  the  lodge  and 
through  the  front  flap  was  peeping  out  at  the 
two  logomachists  by  the  mosquito  smudge. 
She  was  flushed  and  happy-eyed,  proud  that 
no  less  a  man  than  the  Factor  (who  stood  next 
to  God  in  the  Northland  hierarchy)  had 
singled  her  out,  femininely  curious  to  see  at 
close  range  what  manner  of  man  he  was.  Sun- 
glare  on  the  ice,  camp  smoke,  and  weather  beat 
had  burned  his  face  to  a  copper-brown,  so  that 
her  father  was  as  fair  as  he,  while  she  was  fairer. 
She  was  remotely  glad  of  this,  and  more  imme 
diately  glad  that  he  was  large  and  strong,  though 
his  great  black  beard  half  frightened  her,  it  was 
so  strange. 

Being  very  young,  she  was  unversed  in  the 
ways  of  men.  Seventeen  times  she  had  seen 
the  sun  travel  south  and  lose  itself  beyond  the 
sky-line,  and  seventeen  times  she  had  seen  it 
travel  back  again  and  ride  the  sky  day  and 
night  till  there  was  no  night  at  all.  And 
through  these  years  she  had  been  cherished 


1 82      THE    MARRIAGE   OF   LIT-LIT 

jealously  by  Snettishane,  who  stood  between 
her  and  all  suitors,  listening  disdainfully  to  the 
young  hunters  as  they  bid  for  her  hand,  and 
turning  them  away  as  though  she  were  beyond 
price.  Snettishane  was  mercenary.  Lit-lit  was 
to  him  an  investment.  She  represented  so 
much  capital,  from  which  he  expected  to 
receive,  not  a  certain  definite  interest,  but  an 
incalculable  interest. 

And  having  thus  been  reared  in  a  manner  as 
near  to  that  of  the  nunnery  as  tribal  conditions 
would  permit,  it  was  with  a  great  and  maidenly 
anxiety  that  she  peeped  out  at  the  man  who 
had  surely  come  for  her,  at  the  husband  who 
was  to  teach  her  all  that  was  yet  unlearned 
of  life,  at  the  masterful  being  whose  word 
was  to  be  her  law,  and  who  was  to  mete 
and  bound  her  actions  and  comportment  for 
the  rest  of  her  days. 

But,  peeping  through  the  front  flap  of  the 
lodge,  flushed  and  thrilling  at  the  strange  des 
tiny  reaching  out  for  her,  she  grew  disap 
pointed  as  the  day  wore  along,  and  the  Factor 
and  her  father  still  talked  pompously  of  matters 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    LIT-LIT      183 

concerning  other  things  and  not  pertaining 
to  marriage  things  at  all.  As  the  sun  sank 
lower  and  lower  toward  the  north  and  mid 
night  approached,  the  Factor  began  making 
unmistakable  preparations  for  departure.  As 
he  turned  to  stride  away  Lit-lit's  heart  sank ; 
but  it  rose  again  as  he  halted,  half  turning  on 
one  heel. 

"  Oh,  by  the  way,  Snettishane,"  he  said, 
"  I  want  a  squaw  to  wash  for  me  and  mend 
my  clothes." 

Snettishane  grunted  and  suggested  Wani- 
dani,  who  was  an  old  woman  and  toothless. 

"  No,  no,"  interposed  the  Factor.  "  What 
I  want  is  a  wife.  I've  been  kind  of  thinking 
about  it,  and  the  thought  just  struck  me  that 
you  might  know  of  some  one  that  would 
suit." 

Snettishane  looked  interested,  whereupon 
the  Factor  retraced  his  steps,  casually  and 
carelessly  to  linger  and  discuss  this  new  and 
incidental  topic. 

cc  Kattou  ? "  suggested  Snettishane. 

"  She  has  but  one  eye,"  objected  the  Factor. 


1 84      THE    MARRIAGE    OF    LIT-LIT 

"  Laska  ? " 

"  Her  knees  be  wide  apart  when  she  stands 
upright.  Kips,  your  biggest  dog,  can  leap 
between  her  knees  when  she  stands  upright." 

"  Senatee  ?  "  went  on  the  imperturbable 
Snettishane. 

But  John  Fox  feigned  anger,  crying :  cc  What 
foolishness  be  this  ?  Am  I  old,  that  thou 
shouldst  mate  me  with  old  women  ?  Am  I 
toothless  ?  lame  of  leg  ?  blind  of  eye  ?  Or 
am  I  poor  that  no  bright-eyed  maiden  may 
look  with  favor  upon  me  ?  Behold !  I  am 
the  Factor,  both  rich  and  great,  a  power  in 
the  land,  whose  speech  makes  men  tremble 
and  is  obeyed  !  " 

Snettishane  was  inwardly  pleased,  though  his 
sphinxlike  visage  never  relaxed.  He  was 
drawing  the  Factor,  and  making  him  break 
ground.  Being  a  creature  so  elemental  as  to 
have  room  for  but  one  idea  at  a  time,  Snetti 
shane  could  pursue  that  one  idea  a  greater  dis 
tance  than  could  John  Fox.  For  John  Fox, 
elemental  as  he  was,  was  still  complex  enough 
to  entertain  several  glimmering  ideas  at  a  time, 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    LIT-LIT      185 

which  debarred  him  from  pursuing  the  one  as 
single-heartedly  or  as  far  as  did  the  chief. 

Snettishane  calmly  continued  calling  the 
roster  of  eligible  maidens,  which,  name  by 
name,  as  fast  as  uttered,  were  stamped  ineligible 
by  John  Fox,  with  specified  objections  ap 
pended.  Again  he  gave  it  up  and  started  to 
return  to  the  Fort.  Snettishane  watched  him 
go,  making  no  effort  to  stop  him,  but  seeing 
him,  in  the  end,  stop  himself. 

"  Come  to  think  of  it,"  the  Factor  remarked, 
"  we  both  of  us  forgot  Lit-lit.  Now  I  wonder 
if  she'll  suit  me  ?  " 

Snettishane  met  the  suggestion  with  a  mirth 
less  face,  behind  the  mask  of  which  his  soul 
grinned  wide.  It  was  a  distinct  victory.  Had 
the  Factor  gone  but  one  step  farther,  perforce 
Snettishane  would  himself  have  mentioned  the 
name  of  Lit-lit,  but  — the  Factor  had  not 
gone  that  one  step  farther. 

The  chief  was  non-committal  concerning 
Lit-lit's  suitability,  till  he  drove  the  white  man 
into  taking  the  next  step  in  order  of  procedure. 

"Well,"  the  Factor  meditated  aloud,  "the 


1 86      THE    MARRIAGE    OF    LIT-LIT 

only  way  to  find  out  is  to  make  a  try  of  it." 
He  raised  his  voice.  "  So  I  will  give  for  Lit- 
lit  ten  blankets  and  three  pounds  of  tobacco 
which  is  good  tobacco." 

Snettishane  replied  with  a  gesture  which 
seemed  to  say  that  all  the  blankets  and  tobacco 
in  all  the  world  could  not  compensate  him  for 
the  loss  of  Lit-lit  and  her  manifold  virtues. 
When  pressed  by  the  Factor  to  set  a  price,  he 
coolly  placed  it  at  five  hundred  blankets,  ten 
guns,  fifty  pounds  of  tobacco,  twenty  scarlet 
cloths,  ten  bottles  of  rum,  a  music-box,  and 
lastly  the  good-will  and  best  offices  of  the 
Factor,  with  a  place  by  his  fire. 

The  Factor  apparently  suffered  a  stroke  of 
apoplexy,  which  stroke  was  successful  in  reduc 
ing  the  blankets  to  two  hundred  and  in  cutting 
out  the  place  by  the  fire  —  an  unheard-of 
condition  in  the  marriages  of  white  men  with 
the  daughters  of  the  soil.  In  the  end,  after 
three  hours  more  of  chaffering,  they  came  to  an 
agreement.  For  Lit-lit  Snettishane  was  to  re 
ceive  one  hundred  blankets,  five  pounds  of 
tobacco,  three  guns,  and  a  bottle  of  rum,  good- 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF   LIT-LIT      187 

will  and  best  offices  included,  which,  according 
to  John  Fox,  was  ten  blankets  and  a  gun  more 
than  she  was  worth.  And  as  he  went  home 
through  the  wee  sma'  hours,  the  three  o'clock 
sun  blazing  in  the  due  northeast,  he  was  un 
pleasantly  aware  that  Snettishane  had  bested 
him  over  the  bargain. 

Snettishane,  tired  and  victorious,  sought  his 
bed,  and  discovered  Lit-lit  before  she  could 
escape  from  the  lodge. 

He  grunted  knowingly :  "  Thou  hast  seen. 
Thou  hast  heard.  Wherefore  it  be  plain  to 
thee  thy  father's  very  great  wisdom  and  un 
derstanding.  I  have  made  for  thee  a  great 
match.  Heed  my  words  and  walk  in  the  way 
of  my  words,  go  when  I  say  go,  come  when  I 
bid  thee  come,  and  we  shall  grow  fat  with  the 
wealth  of  this  big  white  man  who  is  a  fool 
according  to  his  bigness." 

The  next  day  no  trading  was  done  at  the 
store.  The  Factor  opened  whiskey  before 
breakfast  to  the  delight  of  McLean  and  Mc- 
Tavish,  gave  his  dogs  double  rations,  and 
wore  his  best  moccasins.  Outside  the  Fort 


1 88      THE    MARRIAGE   OF   LIT-LIT 

preparations  were  under  way  for  a  potlatch. 
Potlatch  means  "  a  giving,"  and  John  Fox's 
intention  was  to  signalize  his  marriage  with 
Lit-lit  by  a  potlatch  as  generous  as  she  was 
good-looking.  In  the  afternoon  the  whole  tribe 
gathered  to  the  feast.  Men,  women,  children, 
and  dogs  gorged  to  repletion,  nor  was  there 
one  person,  even  among  the  chance  visitors 
and  stray  hunters  from  other  tribes,  who 
failed  to  receive  some  token  of  the  bride 
groom's  largess. 

Lit-lit,  tearfully  shy  and  frightened,  was 
bedecked  by  her  bearded  husband  with  a  new 
calico  dress,  splendidly  beaded  moccasins,  a 
gorgeous  silk  handkerchief  over  her  raven 
hair,  a  purple  scarf  about  her  throat,  brass  ear 
rings  and  finger-rings,  and  a  whole  pint  of 
pinchbeck  jewellery,  including  a  Waterbury 
watch.  Snettishane  could  scarce  contain  him 
self  at  the  spectacle,  but  watching  his  chance 
drew  her  aside  from  the  feast. 

"  Not  this  night,  nor  the  next  night,"  he 
began  ponderously,  "  but  in  the  nights  to  come, 
when  I  shall  call  like  a  raven  by  the  river 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF   LIT-LIT      189 

bank,  it  is  for  thee  to  rise  up  from  thy  big 
husband  who  is  a  fool  and  come  to  me. 

"  Nay,  nay,"  he  went  on  hastily,  at  sight 
of  the  dismay  in  her  face  at  turning  her  back 
upon  her  wonderful  new  life.  "  For  no  sooner 
shall  this  happen  than  thy  big  husband  who  is 
a  fool  will  come  wailing  to  my  lodge.  Then 
it  is  for  thee  to  wail  likewise,  claiming  that  this 
thing  is  not  well,  and  that  the  other  thing  thou 
dost  not  like,  and  that  to  be  the  wife  of  the 
Factor  is  more  than  thou  didst  bargain  for, 
only  wilt  thou  be  content  with  more  blankets, 
and  more  tobacco,  and  more  wealth  of  vari 
ous  sorts  for  thy  poor  old  father  Snettishane. 
Remember  well,  when  I  call  in  the  night,  like 
a  raven,  from  the  river  bank." 

Lit-lit  nodded ;  for  to  disobey  her  father  was 
a  peril  she  knew  well ;  and,  furthermore,  it  was 
a  little  thing  he  asked,  a  short  separation  from 
the  Factor,  who  would  know  only  greater 
gladness  at  having  her  back.  She  returned 
to  the  feast,  and,  midnight  being  well  at 
hand,  the  Factor  sought  her  out  and  led 
her  away  to  the  Fort  amid  joking  and  out- 


190      THE    MARRIAGE    OF   LIT-LIT 

cry  in  which  the  squaws  were  especially 
conspicuous. 

Lit-lit  quickly  found  that  married  life  with 
the  head-man  of  a  fort  was  even  better  than  she 
had  dreamed.  No  longer  did  she  have  to  fetch 
wood  and  water  and  wait  hand  and  foot  upon 
cantankerous  menfolk.  For  the  first  time  in 
her  life  she  could  lie  abed  till  breakfast  was 
on  the  table.  And  what  a  bed! — clean  and 
soft,  and  comfortable  as  no  bed  she  had  ever 
known.  And  such  food  !  Flour,  cooked  into 
biscuits,  hot-cakes  and  bread,  three  times  a  day 
and  every  day,  and  all  one  wanted !  Such 
prodigality  was  hardly  believable. 

To  add  to  her  contentment,  the  Factor  was 
cunningly  kind.  He  had  buried  one  wife,  and 
he  knew  how  to  drive  with  a  slack  rein  that 
went  firm  only  on  occasion,  and  then  went  very 
firm.  "  Lit-lit  is  boss  of  this  place,"  he  an 
nounced  significantly  at  the  table  the  morning 
after  the  wedding.  "  What  she  says  goes. 
Understand  ?  "  And  McLean  and  McTavish 
understood.  Also,  they  knew  that  the  Factor 
had  a  heavy  hand. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    LIT-LIT      191 

But  Lit-lit  did  not  take  advantage.  Taking 
a  leaf  from  the  book  of  her  husband,  she  at 
once  assumed  charge  of  his  two  growing  sons, 
giving  them  added  comforts  and  a  measure  of 
freedom  like  to  that  which  he  gave  her.  The 
two  sons  were  loud  in  the  praise  of  their  new 
mother ;  McLean  and  McTavish  lifted  their 
voices ;  and  the  Factor  bragged  of  the  joys  of 
matrimony  till  the  story  of  her  good  behavior 
and  her  husband's  satisfaction  became  the 
property  of  all  the  dwellers  in  the  Sin  Rock 
district. 

Whereupon  Snettishane,  with  visions  of  his 
incalculable  interest  keeping  him  awake  of 
nights,  thought  it  time  to  bestir  himself.  On 
the  tenth  night  of  her  wedded  life  Lit-lit  was 
awakened  by  the  croaking  of  a  raven,  and  she 
knew  that  Snettishane  was  waiting  for  her  by 
the  river  bank.  In  her  great  happiness  she 
had  forgotten  her  pact,  and  now  it  came  back 
to  her  with  behind  it  all  the  childish  terror  of 
her  father.  For  a  time  she  lay  in  fear  and 
trembling,  loath  to  go,  afraid  to  stay.  But  in 
the  end  the  Factor  won  the  silent  victory,  and 


192      THE    MARRIAGE    OF    LIT-LIT 

his  kindness,  plus  his  great  muscles  and 
square  jaw,  nerved  her  to  disregard  Snetti- 
shane's  call. 

But  in  the  morning  she  arose  very  much 
afraid,  and  went  about  her  duties  in  momen 
tary  fear  of  her  father's  coming.  As  the  day 
wore  along,  however,  she  began  to  recover  her 
spirits.  John  Fox,  soundly  berating  McLean 
and  McTavish  for  some  petty  dereliction  of 
duty,  helped  her  to  pluck  up  courage.  She 
tried  not  to  let  him  go  out  of  her  sight,  and 
when  she  followed  him  into  the  huge  cache 
and  saw  him  twirling  and  tossing  great  bales 
around  as  though  they  were  feather  pillows, 
she  felt  strengthened  in  her  disobedience  to 
her  father.  Also  (it  was  her  first  visit  to  the 
warehouse,  and  Sin  Rock  was  the  chief  dis 
tributing  point  to  several  chains  of  lesser  posts), 
she  was  astounded  at  the  endlessness  of  the 
wealth  there  stored  away. 

This  sight,  and  the  picture  in  her  mind's 
eye  of  the  bare  lodge  of  Snettishane,  put  all 
doubts  at  rest.  Yet  she  capped  her  convic 
tion  by  a  brief  word  with  one  of  her  stepsons. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF   LIT-LIT      193 

"  White  daddy  good  ? "  was  what  she  asked, 
and  the  boy  answered  that  his  father  was  the 
best  man  he  had  ever  known.  That  night 
the  raven  croaked  again.  On  the  night  fol 
lowing  the  croaking  was  more  persistent.  It 
awoke  the  Factor,  who  tossed  restlessly  for  a 
while.  Then  he  said  aloud,  "  Damn  that 
raven,"  and  Lit-lit  laughed  quietly  under  the 
blankets. 

In  the  morning,  bright  and  early,  Snetti- 
shane  put  in  an  ominous  appearance,  and  was 
set  to  breakfast  in  the  kitchen  with  Wanidani. 
He  refused  cc  squaw  food,"  and  a  little  later 
bearded  his  son-in-law  in  the  store  where  the 
trading  was  done.  Having  learned,  he  said, 
that  his  daughter  was  such  a  jewel,  he  had 
come  for  more  blankets,  more  tobacco,  and 
more  guns  —  especially  more  guns.  He  had 
certainly  been  cheated  in  her  price,  he  held,  and 
he  had  come  for  justice.  But  the  Factor  had 
neither  blankets  nor  justice  to  spare.  Where 
upon  he  was  informed  that  Snettishane  had  seen 
the  missionary  at  Three  Forks,  who  had  noti 
fied  him  that  such  marriages  were  not  made 


194      THE    MARRIAGE    OF    LIT-LIT 

in  heaven,  and  that  it  was  his  father's  duty  to 
demand  his  daughter  back. 

"  I  am  good  Christian  man  now,"  Snetti- 
shane  concluded.  "  I  want  my  Lit-lit  to  go  to 
heaven." 

The  Factor's  reply  was  short  and  to  the 
point ;  for  he  directed  his  father-in-law  to  go 
to  the  heavenly  antipodes,  and  by  the  scruff  of 
the  neck  and  the  slack  of  the  blanket  pro 
pelled  him  on  that  trail  as  far  as  the  door. 

But  Snettishane  sneaked  around  and  in 
by  the  kitchen,  cornering  Lit-lit  in  the  great 
living-room  of  the  Fort. 

"  Mayhap  thou  didst  sleep  oversound  last 
night  when  I  called  by  the  river  bank,"  he 
began,  glowering  darkly. 

"  Nay,  I  was  awake  and  heard."  Her  heart 
was  beating  as  though  it  would  choke  her,  but 
she  went  on  steadily,  "  And  the  night  before 
I  was  awake  and  heard,  and  yet  again  the  night 
before." 

And  thereat,  out  of  her  great  happiness  and 
out  of  the  fear  that  it  might  be  taken  from  her, 
she  launched  into  an  original  and  glowing  ad- 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    LIT-LIT      195 

dress  upon  the  status  and  rights  of  woman  — 
the  first  new-woman  lecture  delivered  north  of 
Fifty-three. 

But  it  fell  on  unheeding  ears.  Snettishane 
was  still  in  the  dark  ages.  As  she  paused  for 
breath,  he  said  threateningly,  "  To-night  I 
shall  call  again  like  the  raven." 

At  this  moment  the  Factor  entered  the 
room  and  again  helped  Snettishane  on  his  way 
to  the  heavenly  antipodes. 

That  night  the  raven  croaked  more  per 
sistently  than  ever.  Lit-lit,  who  was  a  light 
sleeper,  heard  and  smiled.  John  Fox  tossed 
restlessly.  Then  he  awoke  and  tossed  about 
with  greater  restlessness.  He  grumbled  and 
snorted,  swore  under  his  breath  and  over  his 
breath,  and  finally  flung  out  of  bed.  He  groped 
his  way  to  the  great  living-room  and  from  the 
rack  took  down  a  loaded  shot-gun  —  loaded  with 
bird  shot,  left  therein  by  the  careless  McTavish. 

The  Factor  crept  carefully  out  of  the  Fort 
and  down  to  the  river.  The  croaking  had 
ceased,  but  he  stretched  out  in  the  long 
grass  and  waited.  The  air  seemed  a  chilly 


196      THE   MARRIAGE    OF    LIT-LIT 

balm,  and  the  earth,  after  the  heat  of  the  day, 
now  and  again  breathed  soothingly  against  him. 
The  Factor,  gathered  into  the  rhythm  of  it  all, 
dozed  off,  with  his  head  upon  his  arm,  and 
slept. 

Fifty  yards  away,  head  resting  on  knees,  and 
with  his  back  to  John  Fox,  Snettishane  like 
wise  slept,  gently  conquered  by  the  quietude 
of  the  night.  An  hour  slipped  by  and  then 
he  awoke,  and,  without  lifting  his  head,  set  the 
night  vibrating  with  the  hoarse  gutturals  of 
the  raven  call. 

The  Factor  roused,  not  with  the  abrupt 
start  of  civilized  man,  but  with  the  swift  and 
comprehensive  glide  from  sleep  to  waking  of 
the  savage.  In  the  night  light  he  made  out  a 
dark  object  in  the  midst  of  the  grass  and 
brought  his  gun  to  bear  upon  it.  A  second 
croak  began  to  rise,  and  he  pulled  the  trigger. 
The  crickets  ceased  from  their  sing-song  chant, 
the  wild  fowl  from  their  squabbling,  and  the 
raven  croak  broke  midmost  and  died  away 
in  gasping  silence. 

John    Fox    ran     to    the    spot    and    reached 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF   LIT-LIT      197 

for  the  thing  he  had  killed,  but  his  fin 
gers  closed  on  a  coarse  mop  of  hair  and  he 
turned  Snettishane's  face  upward  to  the  star 
light.  He  knew  how  a  shot-gun  scattered  at 
fifty  yards,  and  he  knew  that  he  had  peppered 
Snettishane  across  the  shoulders  and  in  the 
small  of  the  back.  And  Snettishane  knew 
that  he  knew,  but  neither  referred  to  it. 

"  What  dost  thou  here  ? "  the  Factor  de 
manded.  "  It  were  time  old  bones  should 
be  in  bed." 

But  Snettishane  was  stately  in  spite  of  the 
bird  shot  burning  under  his  skin. 

"  Old  bones  will  not  sleep,"  he  said 
solemnly.  "  I  weep  for  my  daughter,  for 
my  daughter  Lit-lit,  who  liveth  and  who  yet 
is  dead,  and  who  goeth  without  doubt  to  the 
white  man's  hell." 

"  Weep  henceforth  on  the  far  bank,  beyond 
earshot  of  the  fort,"  said  John  Fox,  turning 
on  his  heel,  "  for  the  noise  of  thy  weeping 
is  exceeding  great  and  will  not  let  one  sleep 
of  nights." 

"  My  heart  is  sore,"  Snettishane  answered, 


198      THE    MARRIAGE    OF    LIT-LIT 

"  and  my  days  and  nights  be  black  with 
sorrow." 

"As  the  raven    is   black,"    said  John  Fox. 

"  As  the  raven  is  black,"  Snettishane  said. 

Never  again  was  the  voice  of  the  raven 
heard  by  the  river  bank.  Lit-lit  grows 
matronly  day  by  day  and  is  very  happy. 
Also,  there  are  sisters  to  the  sons  of  John 
Fox's  first  wife  who  lies  buried  in  a  tree. 
Old  Snettishane  is  no  longer  a  visitor  at  the 
Fort,  and  spends  long  hours  raising  a  thin, 
aged  voice  against  the  filial  ingratitude  of 
children  in  general  and  of  his  daughter  Lit-lit 
in  particular.  His  declining  years  are  em 
bittered  by  the  knowledge  that  he  was  cheated, 
and  even  John  Fox  has  withdrawn  the  asser 
tion  that  the  price  for  Lit-lit  was  too  much 
by  ten  blankets  and  a  gun. 


BATARD 


BATARD 

BATARD  was  a  devil.  This  was  rec 
ognized  throughout  the  Northland. 
"  Hell's  Spawn "  he  was  called  by 
many  men,  but  his  master,  Black  Leclere, 
chose  for  him  the  shameful  name  <c  Batard." 
Now  Black  Leclere  was  also  a  devil,  and  the 
twain  were  well  matched.  There  is  a  saying 
that  when  two  devils  come  together,  hell 
is  to  pay.  This  is  to  be  expected,  and  this 
certainly  was  to  be  expected  when  Batard  and 
Black  Leclere  came  together.  The  first  time 
they  met,  Batard  was  a  part-grown  puppy, 
lean  and  hungry,  with  bitter  eyes ;  and 
they  met  with  snap  and  snarl,  and  wicked 
looks,  for  Leclere's  upper  lip  had  a  wolfish 
way  of  lifting  and  showing  the  white,  cruel 
teeth.  And  it  lifted  then,  and  his  eyes  glinted 
viciously,  as  he  reached  for  Batard  and  dragged 

201 


202  BATARD 

him  out  from  the  squirming  litter.  It  was 
certain  that  they  divined  each  other,  for  on  the 
instant  Batard  had  buried  his  puppy  fangs  in 
Leclere's  hand,  and  Leclere,  thumb  and  finger, 
was  coolly  choking  his  young  life  out  of  him. 

"  Sacredam"  the  Frenchman  said  softly, 
flirting  the  quick  blood  from  his  bitten  hand 
and  gazing  down  on  the  little  puppy  choking 
and  gasping  in  the  snow. 

Leclere  turned  to  John  Hamlin,  storekeeper 
of  the  Sixty  Mile  Post.  "  Dat  fo'  w'at  Ah 
lak  heem.  'Ow  moch,  eh,  you,  M* sieu  ? 
'Ow  moch  ?  Ah  buy  heem,  now  ;  Ah  buy 
heem  queek." 

And  because  he  hated  him  with  an  exceed 
ing  bitter  hate,  Leclere  bought  Batard  and  gave 
him  his  shameful  name.  And  for  five  years 
the  twain  adventured  across  the  Northland, 
from  St.  Michael's  and  the  Yukon  delta  to 
the  head-reaches  of  the  Pelly  and  even  so  far 
as  the  Peace  River,  Athabasca,  and  the  Great 
Slave.  And  they  acquired  a  reputation  for 
uncompromising  wickedness,  the  like  of  which 
never  before  attached  itself  to  man  and  dog. 


BATARD  203 

Batard  did  not  know  his  father,  —  hence  his 
name,  —  but,  as  John  Hamlin  knew,  his  father 
was  a  great  gray  timber  wolf.  But  the  mother 
of  Batard,  as  he  dimly  remembered  her,  was 
snarling,  bickering,  obscene,  husky,  full-fronted 
and  heavy-chested,  with  a  malign  eye,  a  cat 
like  grip  on  life,  and  a  genius  for  trickery 
and  evil.  There  was  neither  faith  nor  trust 
in  her.  Her  treachery  alone  could  be  relied 
upon,  and  her  wild-wood  amours  attested  her 
general  depravity.  Much  of  evil  and  much 
of  strength  were  there  in  these,  Batard's  pro 
genitors,  and,  bone  and  flesh  of  their  bone  and 
flesh,  he  had  inherited  it  all.  And  then  came 
Black  Leciere,  to  lay  his  heavy  hand  on  the 
bit  of  pulsating  puppy  life,  to  press  and  prod 
and  mould  till  it  became  a  big  bristling  beast, 
acute  in  knavery,  overspilling  with  hate,  sinis 
ter,  malignant,  diabolical.  With  a  proper 
master  Batard  might  have  made  an  ordinary, 
fairly  efficient  sled-dog.  He  never  got  the 
chance:  Leciere  but  confirmed  him  in  his 
congenital  iniquity. 

The    history    of    Batard    and    Leclere   is    a 


204  BATARD 

history  of  war  —  of  five  cruel,  relentless  years, 
of  which  their  first  meeting  is  fit  summary. 
To  begin  with,  it  was  Leclere's  fault,  for  he 
hated  with  understanding  and  intelligence, 
while  the  long-legged,  ungainly  puppy  hated 
only  blindly,  instinctively,  without  reason  or 
method.  At  first  there  were  no  refinements  of 
cruelty  (these  were  to  come  later),  but  simple 
beatings  and  crude  brutalities.  In  one  of 
these  Batard  had  an  ear  injured.  He  never 
regained  control  of  the  riven  muscles,  and 
ever  after  the  ear  drooped  limply  down  to 
keep  keen  the  memory  of  his  tormentor. 
And  he  never  forgot. 

His  puppyhood  was  a  period  of  foolish 
rebellion.  He  was  always  worsted,  but  he 
fought  back  because  it  was  his  nature  to  fight 
back.  And  he  was  unconquerable.  Yelping 
shrilly  from  the  pain  of  lash  and  club,  he 
none  the  less  contrived  always  to  throw  in  the 
defiant  snarl,  the  bitter  vindictive  menace  of  his 
soul  which  fetched  without  fail  more  blows 
and  beatings.  But  his  was  his  mother's  tena 
cious  grip  on  life.  Nothing  could  kill  him. 


f  A 

BATARD   J  205 

He  flourished  under  misfortune,  grew  fat  with 
famine,  and  out  of  his  terrible  struggle  for 
life  developed  a  preternatural  intelligence. 
His  were  the  stealth  and  cunning  of  the 
husky,  his  mother,  and  the  fierceness  and 
valor  of  the  wolf,  his  father. 

Possibly  it  was  because  of  his  father  that 
he  never  wailed.  His  puppy  yelps  passed 
with  his  lanky  legs,  so  that  he  became  grim 
and  taciturn,  quick  to  strike,  slow  to  warn. 
He  answered  curse  with  snarl,  and  blow  with 
snap,  grinning  the  while  his  implacable  hatred ; 
but  never  again,  under  the  extremest  agony, 
did  Leclere  bring  from  him  the  cry  of  fear 
nor  of  pain.  This  unconquerableness  but 
fanned  Leclere's  wrath  and  stirred  him  to 
greater  deviltries. 

Did  Leclere  give  Batard  half  a  fish  and  to 
his  mates  whole  ones,  Batard  went  forth  to 
rob  other  dogs  of  their  fish.  Also  he  robbed 
caches  and  expressed  himself  in  a  thousand 
rogueries,  till  he  became  a  terror  to  all  dogs 
and  masters  of  dogs.  Did  Leclere  beat  Batard 
and  fondle  Babette,  —  Babette  who  was  not 


206  BATARD 

half  the  worker  he  was,  —  why,  Batard  threw 
her  down  in  the  snow  and  broke  her  hind 
leg  in  his  heavy  jaws,  so  that  Leclere  was 
forced  to  shoot  her.  Likewise,  in  bloody 
battles,  Batard  mastered  all  his  team-mates, 
set  them  the  law  of  trail  and  forage,  and  made 
them  live  to  the  law  he  set. 

In  five  years  he  heard  but  one  kind  word, 
received  but  one  soft  stroke  of  a  hand,  and 
then  he  did  not  know  what  manner  of  things 
they  were.  He  leaped  like  the  untamed  thing 
he  was,  and  his  jaws  were  together  in  a  flash. 
It  was  the  missionary  at  Sunrise,  a  newcomer 
in  the  country,  who  spoke  the  kind  word  and 
gave  the  soft  stroke  of  the  hand.  And  for 
six  months  after,  he  wrote  no  letters  home  to 
the  States,  and  the  surgeon  at  McQuestion 
travelled  two  hundred  miles  on  the  ice  to  save 
him  from  blood-poisoning. 

Men  and  dogs  looked  askance  at  Batard 
when  he  drifted  into  their  camps  and  posts. 
The  men  greeted  him  with  feet  threateningly 
lifted  for  the  kick,  the  dogs  with  bristling 
manes  and  bared  fangs.  Once  a  man  did  kick 


BATARD  207 

Batard,  and  Batard,  with  quick  wolf  snap, 
closed  his  jaws  like  a  steel  trap  on  the 
man's  calf  and  crunched  down  to  the  bone. 
Whereat  the  man  was  determined  to  have  his 
life,  only  Black  Leclere,  with  ominous  eyes 
and  naked  hunting- knife,  stepped  in  between. 
The  killing  of  Batard  —  ah,  sacredam,  that 
was  a  pleasure  Leclere  reserved  for  himself. 
Some  day  it  would  happen,  or  else  —  bah ! 
who  was  to  know  ?  Anyway,  the  problem 
would  be  solved. 

For  they  had  become  problems  to  each 
other.  The  very  breath  each  drew  was  a 
challenge  and  a  menace  to  the  other.  Their 
hate  bound  them  together  as  love  could  never 
bind.  Leclere  was  bent  on  the  coming  of  the 
day  when  Batard  should  wilt  in  spirit  and 
cringe  and  whimper  at  his  feet.  And  Batard 
—  Leclere  knew  what  was  in  Batard's  mind, 
and  more  than  once  had  read  it  in  Batard's 
eyes.  And  so  clearly  had  he  read,  that  when 
Batard  was  at  his  back,  he  made  it  a  point  to 
glance  often  over  his  shoulder. 

Men  marvelled  when  Leclere  refused  large 


208  BATARD 

money  for  the  dog.  "  Some  day  you'll  kill 
him  and  be  out  his  price/'  said  John  Hamlin 
once,  when  Batard  lay  panting  in  the  snow 
where  Leclere  had  kicked  him,  and  no  one 
knew  whether  his  ribs  were  broken,  and  no 
one  dared  look  to  see. 

"  Dat,"  said  Leclere,  dryly,  "  dat  is  my  biz'- 
ness,  M'sieu" 

And  the  men  marvelled  that  Batard  did 
not  run  away.  They  did  not  understand. 
But  Leclere  understood.  He  was  a  man  who 
lived  much  in  the  open,  beyond  the  sound  of 
human  tongue,  and  he  had  learned  the  voices 
of  wind  and  storm,  the  sigh  of  night,  the 
whisper  of  dawn,  the  clash  of  day.  In  a  dim 
way  he  could  hear  the  green  things  growing, 
the  running  of  the  sap,  the  bursting  of  the  bud. 
And  he  knew  the  subtle  speech  of  the  things 
that  moved,  of  the  rabbit  in  the  snare,  the 
moody  raven  beating  the  air  with  hollow  wing, 
the  baldface  shuffling  under  the  moon,  the 
wolf  like  a  gray  shadow  gliding  betwixt  the 
twilight  and  the  dark.  And  to  him  Batard 
spoke  clear  and  direct.  Full  well  he  under- 


BATARD  209 

stood  why  Batard  did  not   run  away,  and  he 
looked  more  often  over  his  shoulder. 

When  in  anger,  Batard  was  not  nice  to  look 
upon,  and  more  than  once  had  he  leapt  for 
Leclere's  throat,  to  be  stretched  quivering  and 
senseless  in  the  snow,  by  the  butt  of  the  ever 
ready  dogwhip.  And  so  Batard  learned  to 
bide  his  time.  When  he  reached  his  full 
strength  and  prime  of  youth,  he  thought  the 
time  had  come.  He  was  broad-chested,  power 
fully  muscled,  of  far  more  than  ordinary  size, 
and  his  neck  from  head  to  shoulders  was  a 
mass  of  bristling  hair  —  to  all  appearances 
a  full-blooded  wolf.  Leclere  was  lying  asleep 
in  his  furs  when  Batard  deemed  the  time  to  be 
ripe.  He  crept  upon  him  stealthily,  head  low 
to  earth  and  lone  ear  laid  back,  with  a  feline 
softness  of  tread.  Batard  breathed  gently,  very 
gently,  and  not  till  he  was  close  at  hand  did 
he  raise  his  head.  He  paused  for  a  moment, 
and  looked  at  the  bronzed  bull  throat,  naked 
and  knotty,  and  swelling  to  a  deep  and  steady 
pulse.  The  slaver  dripped  down  his  fangs 
and  slid  off  his  tongue  at  the  sight,  and  in 


210  BATARD 

that  moment  he  remembered  his  drooping  ear, 
his  uncounted  blows  and  prodigious  wrongs, 
and  without  a  sound  sprang  on  the  sleeping 
man. 

Leclere  awoke  to  the  pang  of  the  fangs  in 
his  throat,  and,  perfect  animal  that  he  was, 
he  awoke  clear-headed  and  with  full  compre 
hension.  He  closed  on  Batard's  windpipe 
with  both  his  hands,  and  rolled  out  of  his  furs 
to  get  his  weight  uppermost.  But  the  thou 
sands  of  Batard's  ancestors  had  clung  at  the 
throats  of  unnumbered  moose  and  caribou  and 
dragged  them  down,  and  the  wisdom  of  those 
ancestors  was  his.  When  Leclere's  weight 
came  on  top  of  him,  he  drove  his  hind  legs 
upward  and  in,  and  clawed  down  chest  and 
abdomen,  ripping  and  tearing  through  skin 
and  muscle.  And  when  he  felt  the  man's  body 
wince  above  him  and  lift,  he  worried  and  shook 
at  the  man's  throat.  His  team-mates  closed 
around  in  a  snarling  circle,  and  Batard,  with 
failing  breath  and  fading  sense,  knew  that  their 
jaws  were  hungry  for  him.  But  that  did  not 
matter  —  it  was  the  man,  the  man  above  him, 


BATARD  211 

and  he  ripped  and  clawed,  and  shook  and 
worried,  to  the  last  ounce  of  his  strength.  But 
Leclere  choked  him  with  both  his  hands,  till 
Batard's  chest  heaved  and  writhed  for  the  air 
denied,  and  his  eyes  glazed  and  set,  and  his 
jaws  slowly  loosened,  and  his  tongue  protruded 
black  and  swollen. 

"  Eh  ?  Son,  you  devil !  "  Leclere  gurgled, 
mouth  and  throat  clogged  with  his  own  blood, 
as  he  shoved  the  dizzy  dog  from  him. 

And  then  Leclere  cursed  the  other  dogs 
off  as  they  fell  upon  Batard.  They  drew  back 
into  a  wider  circle,  squatting  alertly  on  their 
haunches  and  licking  their  chops,  the  hair  on 
every  neck  bristling  and  erect. 

Batard  recovered  quickly,  and  at  sound  of 
Leclere' s  voice,  tottered  to  his  feet  and  swayed 
weakly  back  and  forth. 

"  A-h-ah  !  You  beeg  devil !  "  Leclere  splut 
tered.  "Ah  fix  you ;  Ah  fix  you  plentee,  by 
Gar!" 

Batard,  the  air  biting  into  his  exhausted 
lungs  like  wine,  flashed  full  into  the  man's 
face,  his  jaws  missing  and  coming  together 


212  BATARD 

with  a  metallic  clip.  They  rolled  over  and 
over  on  the  snow,  Leclere  striking  madly  with 
his  fists.  Then  they  separated,  face  to  face, 
and  circled  back  and  forth  before  each  other. 
Leclere  could  have  drawn  his  knife.  His 
rifle  was  at  his  feet.  But  the  beast  in  him 
was  up  and  raging.  He  would  do  the  thing 
with  his  hands  —  and  his  teeth.  Batard 
sprang  in,  but  Leclere  knocked  him  over  with 
a  blow  of  the  fist,  fell  upon  him,  and  buried 
his  teeth  to  the  bone  in  the  dog's  shoulder. 

It  was  a  primordial  setting  and  a  primordial 
scene,  such  as  might  have  been  in  the  savage 
youth  of  the  world.  An  open  space  in  a  dark 
forest,  a  ring  of  grinning  wolf-dogs,  and  in  the 
centre  two  beasts,  locked  in  combat,  snapping 
and  snarling,  raging  madly  about,  panting, 
sobbing,  cursing,  straining,  wild  with  passion, 
in  a  fury  of  murder,  ripping  and  tearing  and 
clawing  in  elemental  brutishness. 

But  Leclere  caught  Batard  behind  the  ear, 
with  a  blow  from  his  fist,  knocking  him  over, 
and,  for  the  instant,  stunning  him.  Then 
Leclere  leaped  upon  him  with  his  feet,  and 


BATARD  213 

sprang  up  and  down,  striving  to  grind  him 
into  the  earth.  Both  Batard's  hind  legs  were 
broken  ere  Leclere  ceased  that  he  might  catch 
breath. 

"  A-a-ah  !  A-a-ah  !  "  he  screamed,  incapa 
ble  of  speech,  shaking  his  fist,  through  sheer 
impotence  of  throat  and  larynx. 

But  Batard  was  indomitable.  He  lay  there 
in  a  helpless  welter,  his  lip  feebly  lifting  and 
writhing  to  the  snarl  he  had  not  the  strength 
to  utter.  Leclere  kicked  him,  and  the  tired 
jaws  closed  on  the  ankle,  but  could  not  break 
the  skin. 

Then  Leclere  picked  up  the  whip  and  pro 
ceeded  almost  to  cut  him  to  pieces,  at  each 
stroke  of  the  lash  crying :  "  Dis  taim  Ah  break 
you  !  Eh  ?  By  Gar!  Ah  break  you  !  " 

In  the  end,  exhausted,  fainting  from  loss 
of  blood,  he  crumpled  up  and  fell  by  his  vic 
tim,  and  when  the  wolf-dogs  closed  in  to  take 
their  vengeance,  with  his  last  consciousness 
dragged  his  body  on  top  Batard  to  shield  him 
from  their  fangs. 

This  occurred  not  far  from  Sunrise,  and  the 


214  BATARD 

missionary,  opening  the  door  to  Leclere  a  few 
hours  later,  was  surprised  to  note  the  absence 
of  Batard  from  the  team.  Nor  did  his  surprise 
lessen  when  Leclere  threw  back  the  robes  from 
the  sled,  gathered  Batard  into  his  arms,  and 
staggered  across  the  threshold.  It  happened 
that  the  surgeon  of  McQuestion,  who  was 
something  of  a  gadabout,  was  up  on  a  gossip, 
and  between  them  they  proceeded  to  repair 
Leclere. 

"  Merci^  non"  said  he.  "  Do  you  fix  firs' 
de  dog.  To  die  ?  Non.  Eet  is  not  good. 
Becos'  heem  Ah  mus'  yet  break.  Dat  fo' 
w'at  he  mus'  not  die." 

The  surgeon  called  it  a  marvel,  the  missionary 
a  miracle,  that  Leclere  pulled  through  at  all;  and 
so  weakened  was  he,  that  in  the  spring  the  fever 
got  him,  and  he  went  on  his  back  again.  Batard 
had  been  in  even  worse  plight,  but  his  grip 
on  life  prevailed,  and  the  bones  of  his  hind 
legs  knit,  and  his  organs  righted  themselves, 
during  the  several  weeks  he  lay  strapped  to 
the  floor.  And  by  the  time  Leclere,  finally 
convalescent,  sallow  and  shaky,  took  the  sun 


BATARD  215 

by  the  cabin  door,  Batard  had  reasserted  his 
supremacy  among  his  kind,  and  brought  not 
only  his  own  team-mates  but  the  missionary's 
dogs  into  subjection. 

He  moved  never  a  muscle,  nor  twitched  a 
hair,  when,  for  the  first  time,  Leclere  tottered 
out  on  the  missionary's  arm,  and  sank  down 
slowly  and  with  infinite  caution  on  the  three- 
legged  stool. 

"  Bon  !  "  he  said.  "  Bon  !  De  good  sun  !  " 
And  he  stretched  out  his  wasted  hands  and 
washed  them  in  the  warmth. 

Then  his  gaze  fell  on  the  dog,  and  the  old 
light  blazed  back  in  his  eyes.  He  touched 
the  missionary  lightly  on  the  arm.  "  Mon 
pere,  dat  is  one  beeg  devil,  dat  Batard.  You 
will  bring  me  one  pistol,  so,  dat  Ah  drink  de 
sun  in  peace." 

And  thenceforth  for  many  days  he  sat  in 
the  sun  before  the  cabin  door.  He  never 
dozed,  and  the  pistol  lay  always  across  his 
knees.  Batard  had  a  way,  the  first  thing  each 
day,  of  looking  for  the  weapon  in  its  wonted 
place.  At  sight  of  it  he  would  lift  his  lip 


216  BATARD 

faintly  in  token  that  he  understood,  and 
Leclere  would  lift  his  own  lip  in  an  answering 
grin.  One  day  the  missionary  took  note  of 
the  trick. 

"Bless  me!"  he  said.  "I  really  believe 
the  brute  comprehends." 

Leclere  laughed  softly.  "  Look  you,  mon 
pere.  Dat  w'at  Ah  now  spik,  to  dat  does  he 
lissen." 

As  if  in  confirmation,  Batard  just  perceptibly 
wriggled  his  lone  ear  up  to  catch  the  sound. 

"Ah  say 'keel/" 

Batard  growled  deep  down  in  his  throat,  the 
hair  bristled  along  his  neck,  and  every  muscle 
went  tense  and  expectant. 

"  Ah  lift  de  gun,  so,  like  dat."  And  suit 
ing  action  to  word,  he  sighted  the  pistol  at 
Batard. 

Batard,  with  a  single  leap,  sideways,  landed 
around  the  corner  of  the  cabin  out  of  sight. 

"  Bless  me  ! "  he  repeated  at  intervals. 

Leclere  grinned  proudly. 

"  But  why  does  he  not  run  away  ? " 

The  Frenchman's  shoulders  went  up  in  the 


BATARD  217 

racial  shrug  that  means  all  things  from  total 
ignorance  to  infinite  understanding. 

"  Then  why  do  you  not  kill  him  ? " 

Again  the  shoulders  went  up. 

"  Mon  fere"  he  said  after  a  pause,  <c  de 
taim  is  not  yet.  He  is  one  beeg  devil.  Some 
taim  Ah  break  heem,  so,  an*  so,  all  to  leetle 
bits.  Hey  ?  Some  taim.  Eon  I  " 

A  day  came  when  Leclere  gathered  his 
dogs  together  and  floated  down  in  a  bateau 
to  Forty  Mile,  and  on  to  the  Porcupine,  where 
he  took  a  commission  from  the  P.  C.  Com 
pany,  and  went  exploring  for  the  better  part 
of  a  year.  After  that  he  poled  up  the  Koyo- 
kuk  to  deserted  Arctic  City,  and  later  came 
drifting  back,  from  camp  to  camp,  along  the 
Yukon.  And  during  the  long  months  Batard 
was  well  lessoned.  He  learned  many  tortures, 
and,  notably,  the  torture  of  hunger,  the  torture 
of  thirst,  the  torture  of  fire,  and,  worst  of  all, 
the  torture  of  music. 

Like  the  rest  of  his  kind,  he  did  not  enjoy 
music.  It  gave  him  exquisite  anguish,  racking 
him  nerve  by  nerve,  and  ripping  apart  every 


2i  8  BATARD 

fibre  of  his  being.  It  made  him  howl,  long 
and  wolf-like,  as  when  the  wolves  bay  the  stars 
on  frosty  nights.  He  could  not  help  howling. 
It  was  his  one  weakness  in  the  contest  with 
Leclere,  and  it  was  his  shame.  Leclere,  on 
the  other  hand,  passionately  loved  music  —  as 
passionately  as  he  loved  strong  drink.  And 
when  his  soul  clamored  for  expression,  it  usu 
ally  uttered  itself  in  one  or  the  other  of  the 
two  ways,  and  more  usually  in  both  ways. 
And  when  he  had  drunk,  his  brain  a-lilt  with 
unsung  song  and  the  devil  in  him  aroused  and 
rampant,  his  soul  found  its  supreme  utterance 
in  torturing  Batard. 

"  Now  we  will  haf  a  leetle  museek," 
he  would  say.  "  Eh  ?  Wat  you  t'ink, 
Batard?" 

It  was  only  an  old  and  battered  harmonica, 
tenderly  treasured  and  patiently  repaired ;  but 
it  was  the  best  that  money  could  buy,  and  out 
of  its  silver  reeds  he  drew  weird  vagrant  airs 
that  men  had  never  heard  before.  Then 
Batard,  dumb  of  throat,  with  teeth  tight 
clenched,  would  back  away,  inch  by  inch,  to 


BATARD  219 

the  farthest  cabin  corner.  And  Leclere,  play 
ing,  playing,  a  stout  club  tucked  under  his 
arm,  followed  the  animal  up,  inch  by  inch, 
step  by  step,  till  there  was  no  further  retreat. 
At  first  Batard  would  crowd  himself  into 
the  smallest  possible  space,  grovelling  close  to 
the  floor ;  but  as  the  music  came  nearer  and 
nearer,  he  was  forced  to  uprear,  his  back 
jammed  into  the  logs,  his  fore  legs  fanning  the 
air  as  though  to  beat  off  the  rippling  waves  of 
sound.  He  still  kept  his  teeth  together,  but 
severe  muscular  contractions  attacked  his  body, 
strange  twitchings  and  jerkings,  till  he  was  all 
a-quiver  and  writhing  in  silent  torment.  As  he 
lost  control,  his  jaws  spasmodically  wrenched 
apart,  and  deep  throaty  vibrations  issued  forth, 
too  low  in  the  register  of  sound  for  human  ear 
to  catch.  And  then,  nostrils  distended,  eyes 
dilated,  hair  bristling  in  helpless  rage,  arose 
the  long  wolf  howl.  It  came  with  a  slurring 
rush  upward,  swelling  to  a  great  heart-break 
ing  burst  of  sound,  and  dying  away  in  sadly 
cadenced  woe  —  then  the  next  rush  upward, 
octave  upon  octave ;  the  bursting  heart ;  and 


220  BATARD 

the  infinite  sorrow  and  misery,  fainting,  fading, 
falling,  and  dying  slowly  away. 

It  was  fit  for  hell.  And  Leclere,  with  fiend 
ish  ken,  seemed  to  divine  each  particular  nerve 
and  heartstring,  and  with  long  wails  and  trem 
blings  and  sobbing  minors  to  make  it  yield  up 
its  last  shred  of  grief.  It  was  frightful,  and 
for  twenty-four  hours  after,  Batard  was  nervous 
and  unstrung,  starting  at  common  sounds,  trip 
ping  over  his  own  shadow,  but,  withal,  vicious 
and  masterful  with  his  team-mates.  Nor  did 
he  show  signs  of  a  breaking  spirit.  Rather 
did  he  grow  more  grim  and  taciturn,  biding 
his  time  with  an  inscrutable  patience  that 
began  to  puzzle  and  weigh  upon  Leclere. 
The  dog  would  lie  in  the  firelight,  motionless, 
for  hours,  gazing  straight  before  him  at  Leclere, 
and  hating  him  with  his  bitter  eyes. 

Often  the  man  felt  that  he  had  bucked 
against  the  very  essence  of  life  —  the  uncon 
querable  essence  that  swept  the  hawk  down 
out  of  the  sky  like  a  feathered  thunderbolt, 
that  drove  the  great  gray  goose  across  the 
zones,  that  hurled  the  spawning  salmon 


BATARD  221 

through  two  thousand  miles  of  boiling  Yukon 
flood.  At  such  times  he  felt  impelled  to  ex 
press  his  own  unconquerable  essence ;  and 
with  strong  drink,  wild  music,  and  Batard,  he 
indulged  in  vast  orgies,  wherein  he  pitted  his 
puny  strength  in  the  face  of  things,  and  chal 
lenged  all  that  was,  and  had  been,  and  was  yet 
to  be. 

"  Dere  is  something  dere,"  he  affirmed,  when 
the  rhythmed  vagaries  of  his  mind  touched 
the  secret  chords  of  Batard's  being  and  brought 
forth  the  long  lugubrious  howl.  "  Ah  pool 
eet  out  wid  bot'  my  han's,  so,  an'  so.  Ha ! 
Ha !  Eet  is  fonee  !  Eet  is  ver'  fonee  !  De 
priest  chant,  de  womans  pray,  de  mans  swear, 
de  leetle  bird  go  peep-peep,  Batard,  heem  go 
yow-yow  —  an*  eet  is  all  de  ver'  same  t'ing. 
Ha!  Ha!" 

Father  Gautier,  a  worthy  priest,  once  re 
proved  him  with  instances  of  concrete  perdi 
tion.  He  never  reproved  him  again. 

"  Eet  may  be  so,  mon  pere,"  he  made  answer. 
"An'  Ah  t'ink  Ah  go  troo  hell  a-snappin',  lak 
de  hemlock  troo  de  fire.  Eh,  mon  p^re  ?  " 


222  BATARD 

But  all  bad  things  come  to  an  end  as  well 
as  good,  and  so  with  Black  Leclere.  On 
the  summer  low  water,  in  a  poling  boat, 
he  left  McDougall  for  Sunrise.  He  left 
McDougall  in  company  with  Timothy 
Brown,  and  arrived  at  Sunrise  by  himself. 
Further,  it  was  known  that  they  had  quar 
relled  just  previous  to  pulling  out ;  for  the 
Lizziey  a  wheezy  ten-ton  sternwheeler,  twenty- 
four  hours  behind,  beat  Leclere  in  by  three 
days.  And  when  he  did  get  in,  it  was  with  a 
clean-drilled  bullet-hole  through  his  shoulder 
muscle,  and  a  tale  of  ambush  and  murder. 

A  strike  had  been  made  at  Sunrise,  and 
things  had  changed  considerably.  With  the 
infusion  of  several  hundred  gold-seekers,  a  deal 
of  whiskey,  and  half  a  dozen  equipped  gam 
blers,  the  missionary  had  seen  the  page  of 
his  years  of  labor  with  the  Indians  wiped 
clean.  When  the  squaws  became  preoccu 
pied  with  cooking  beans  and  keeping  the  fire 
going  for  the  wifeless  miners,  and  the  bucks 
with  swapping  their  warm  furs  for  black  bot 
tles  and  broken  timepieces,  he  took  to  his  bed, 


BATARD  223 

said  "  bless  me  "  several  times,  and  departed 
to  his  final  accounting  in  a  rough-hewn,  oblong 
box.  Whereupon  the  gamblers  moved  their 
roulette  and  faro  tables  into  the  mission  house, 
and  the  click  of  chips  and  clink  of  glasses 
went  up  from  dawn  till  dark  and  to  dawn 
again. 

Now  Timothy  Brown  was  well  beloved 
among  these  adventurers  of  the  north.  The 
one  thing  against  him  was  his  quick  temper 
and  ready  fist,  —  a  little  thing,  for  which  his 
kind  heart  and  forgiving  hand  more  than 
atoned.  On  the  other  hand,  there  was  noth 
ing  to  atone  for  Black  Leclere.  He  was 
"  black,"  as  more  than  one  remembered  deed 
bore  witness,  while  he  was  as  well  hated  as 
the  other  was  beloved.  So  the  men  of  Sun 
rise  put  an  antiseptic  dressing  on  his  shoulder 
and  haled  him  before  Judge  Lynch. 

It  was  a  simple  affair.  He  had  quarrelled 
with  Timothy  Brown  at  McDougall.  With 
Timothy  Brown  he  had  left  McDougall. 
Without  Timothy  Brown  he  had  arrived  at 
Sunrise.  Considered  in  the  light  of  his  evil- 


224  BATARD 

ness,  the  unanimous  conclusion  was  that  he 
had  killed  Timothy  Brown.  On  the  other 
hand,  Leclere  acknowledged  their  facts,  but 
challenged  their  conclusion,  and  gave  his  own 
explanation.  Twenty  miles  out  of  Sunrise 
he  and  Timothy  Brown  were  poling  the  boat 
along  the  rocky  shore.  From  that  shore  two 
rifle-shots  rang  out.  Timothy  Brown  pitched 
out  of  the  boat  and  went  down  bubbling  red, 
and  that  was  the  last  of  Timothy  Brown. 
He,  Leclere,  pitched  into  the  bottom  of  the 
boat  with  a  stinging  shoulder.  He  lay  very 
quiet,  peeping  at  the  shore.  After  a  time 
two  Indians  stuck  up  their  heads  and  came 
out  to  the  water's  edge,  carrying  between  them 
a  birch-bark  canoe.  As  they  launched  it, 
Leclere  let  fly.  He  potted  one,  who  went 
over  the  side  after  the  manner  of  Timothy 
Brown.  The  other  dropped  into  the  bottom 
of  the  canoe,  and  then  canoe  and  poling  boat 
went  down  the  stream  in  a  drifting  battle. 
After  that  they  hung  up  on  a  split  current, 
and  the  canoe  passed  on  one  side  of  an  island, 
the  poling  boat  on  the  other.  That  was  the 


BATARD  225 

last  of  the  canoe,  and  he  came  on  into  Sun 
rise.  Yes,  from  the  way  the  Indian  in  the 
canoe  jumped,  he  was  sure  he  had  potted 
him.  That  was  all. 

This  explanation  was  not  deemed  adequate. 
They  gave  him  ten  hours'  grace  while  the 
Lizzie  steamed  down  to  investigate.  Ten 
hours  later  she  came  wheezing  back  to  Sun 
rise.  There  had  been  nothing  to  investigate. 
No  evidence  had  been  found  to  back  up  his 
statements.  They  told  him  to  make  his  will, 
for  he  possessed  a  fifty-thousand-dollar  Sun 
rise  claim,  and  they  were  a  law-abiding  as 
well  as  a  law-giving  breed. 

Leclere  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Bot  one 
t'ing,"  he  said ;  "  a  leetle,  w'at  you  call,  favor 
—  a  leetle  favor,  dat  is  eet.  I  gif  my  feefty 
t'ousan'  dollair  to  de  church.  I  gif  my  husky 
dog,  Batard,  to  de  devil.  De  leetle  favor? 
Firs'  you  hang  heem,  an*  den  you  hang  me. 
Eet  is  good,  eh  ?  " 

Good  it  was,  they  agreed,  that  Hell's  Spawn 
should  break  trail  for  his  master  across  the 
last  divide,  and  the  court  was  adjourned  down 
Q 


226  BATARD 

to  the  river  bank,  where  a  big  spruce  tree  stood 
by  itself.  Slackwater  Charley  put  a  hangman's 
knot  in  the  end  of  a  hauling-line,  and  the  noose 
was  slipped  over  Leclere's  head  and  pulled 
tight  around  his  neck.  His  hands  were  tied 
behind  his  back,  and  he  was  assisted  to  the  top 
of  a  cracker  box.  Then  the  running  end  of 
the  line  was  passed  over  an  overhanging 
branch,  drawn  taut,  and  made  fast.  To  kick 
the  box  out  from  under  would  leave  him  danc 
ing  on  the  air. 

"  Now  for  the  dog,"  said  Webster  Shaw, 
sometime  mining  engineer.  "You'll  have  to 
rope  him,  Slackwater." 

Leclere  grinned.  Slackwater  took  a  chew  of 
tobacco,  rove  a  running  noose,  and  proceeded 
leisurely  to  coil  a  few  turns  in  his  hand.  He 
paused  once  or  twice  to  brush  particularly 
offensive  mosquitoes  from  off  his  face.  Every 
body  was  brushing  mosquitoes,  except  Leclere, 
about  whose  head  a  small  cloud  was  visible. 
Even  Batard,  lying  full-stretched  on  the 
ground,  with  his  fore  paws  rubbed  the  pests 
away  from  eyes  and  mouth. 


BATARD  227 

But  while  Slackwater  waited  for  Batard  to 
lift  his  head,  a  faint  call  came  down  the  quiet 
air,  and  a  man  was  seen  waving  his  arms  and 
running  across  the  flat  from  Sunrise.  It  was 
the  storekeeper. 

"C-call  'er  off,  boys,"  he  panted,  as  he  came 
in  among  them. 

"  Little  Sandy  and  Bernadotte's  jes'  got  in," 
he  explained  with  returning  breath.  "  Landed 
down  below  an'  come  up  by  the  short  cut. 
Got  the  Beaver  with  'm.  Picked  'm  up  in  his 
canoe,  stuck  in  a  back  channel,  with  a  couple 
of  bullet  holes  in  'm.  Other  buck  was  Klok- 
Kutz,  the  one  that  knocked  spots  out  of  his 
squaw  and  dusted." 

"  Eh  ?  Wat  Ah  say  ?  Eh  ?  "  Leclere  cried 
exultantly.  "  Dat  de  one  fo'  sure  !  Ah  know. 
Ah  spik  true." 

"  The  thing  to  do  is  teach  these  damned 
Siwashes  a  little  manners,"  spoke  Webster 
Shaw.  "  They're  getting  fat  and  sassy,  and 
we'll  have  to  bring  them  down  a  peg.  Round 
in  all  the  bucks  and  string  up  the  Beaver  for 
an  object  lesson.  That's  the  programme! 


228  BATARD 

Come  on  and  let's  see  what  he's  got  to  say  for 
himself." 

"  Heh,  M'sieu'  !  "  Leclere  called,  as  the 
crowd  began  to  melt  away  through  the  twilight 
in  the  direction  of  Sunrise.  "  Ah  lak  ver' 
moch  to  see  de  fon." 

"  Oh,  we'll  turn  you  loose  when  we  come 
back,"  Webster  Shaw  shouted  over  his 
shoulder.  "In  the  meantime  meditate  on 
your  sins  and  the  ways  of  providence.  It  will 
do  you  good,  so  be  grateful." 

As  is  the  way  with  men  who  are  accustomed 
to  great  hazards,  whose  nerves  are  healthy  and 
trained  to  patience,  so  it  was  with  Leclere,  who 
settled  himself  to  the  long  wait  —  which  is  to 
say  that  he  reconciled  his  mind  to  it.  There 
was  no  settling  of  the  body,  for  the  taut  rope 
forced  him  to  stand  rigidly  erect.  The  least 
relaxation  of  the  leg  muscles  pressed  the  rough- 
fibred  noose  into  his  neck,  while  the  upright 
position  caused  him  much  pain  in  his  wounded 
shoulder.  He  projected  his  under  lip  and 
expelled  his  breath  upward  along  his  face  to 
blow  the  mosquitoes  away  from  his  eyes.  But 


BATARD  229 

the  situation  had  its  compensation.  To  be 
snatched  from  the  maw  of  death  was  well 
worth-  a  little  bodily  suffering,  only  it  was 
unfortunate  that  he  should  miss  the  hanging 
of  the  Beaver. 

And  so  he  mused,  till  his  eyes  chanced  to 
fall  upon  Batard,  head  between  fore  paws  and 
stretched  on  the  ground  asleep.  And  then 
Leclere  ceased  to  muse.  He  studied  the  ani 
mal  closely,  striving  to  sense  if  the  sleep  were 
real  or  feigned.  Batard's  sides  were  heaving 
regularly,  but  Leclere  felt  that  the  breath  came 
and  went  a  shade  too  quickly ;  also  he  felt 
that  there  was  a  vigilance  or  alertness  to  every 
hair  that  belied  unshackling  sleep.  He 
would  have  given  his  Sunrise  claim  to  be 
assured  that  the  dog  was  not  awake,  and  once, 
when  one  of  his  joints  cracked,  he  looked 
quickly  and  guiltily  at  Batard  to  see  if  he  roused. 
He  did  not  rouse  then,  but  a  few  minutes 
later  he  got  up  slowly  and  lazily,  stretched, 
and  looked  carefully  about  him. 

**Sacredam"  said  Leclere,  under  his  breath. 

Assured  that  no  one  was  in  sight  or  hearing, 


230  BATARD 

Batard  sat  down,  curled  his  upper  lip  almost 
into  a  smile,  looked  up  at  Leclere,  and  licked 
his  chops. 

"Ah  see  my  feenish,"  the  man  said,  and 
laughed  sardonically  aloud. 

Batard  came  nearer,  the  useless  ear  wabbling, 
the  good  ear  cocked  forward  with  devilish 
comprehension.  He  thrust  his  head  on  one 
side  quizzically,  and  advanced  with  mincing, 
playful  steps.  He  rubbed  his  body  gently 
against  the  box  till  it  shook  and  shook  again. 
Leclere  teetered  carefully  to  maintain  his 
equilibrium. 

"  Batard/'  he  said  calmly,  "  look  out.  Ah 
keel  you." 

Batard  snarled  at  the  word,  and  shook  the 
box  with  greater  force.  Then  he  upreared, 
and  with  his  fore  paws  threw  his  weight  against 
it  higher  up.  Leclere  kicked  out  with  one  foot, 
but  the  rope  bit  into  his  neck  and  checked  so 
abruptly  as  nearly  to  overbalance  him. 

"  Hi,  ya !     Chook  !    Mush-on  !  "  he  screamed. 

Batard  retreated,  for  twenty  feet  or  so,  with 
a  fiendish  levity  in  his  bearing  that  Leclere 


BATARD  231 

could  not  mistake.  He  remembered  the  dog 
often  breaking  the  scum  of  ice  on  the  water 
hole,  by  lifting  up  and  throwing  his  weight 
upon  it;  and,  remembering,  he  understood 
what  he  now  had  in  mind.  Batard  faced 
about  and  paused.  He  showed  his  white 
teeth  in  a  grin,  which  Leclere  answered ;  and 
then  hurled  his  body  through  the  air,  in  full 
charge,  straight  for  the  box. 

Fifteen  minutes  later,  Slackwater  Charley 
and  Webster  Shaw,  returning,  caught  a  glimpse 
of  a  ghostly  pendulum  swinging  back  and 
forth  in  the  dim  light.  As  they  hurriedly 
drew  in  closer,  they  made  out  the  man's  inert 
body,  and  a  live  thing  that  clung  to  it,  and 
shook  and  worried,  and  gave  to  it  the  sway 
ing  motion. 

"Hi,  ya!  Chook!  you  Spawn  of  Hell," 
yelled  Webster  Shaw. 

But  Batard  glared  at  him,  and  snarled 
threateningly,  without  loosing  his  jaws. 

Slackwater  Charley  got  out  his  revolver, 
but  his  hand  was  shaking,  as  with  a  chill,  and 
he  fumbled. 


232  BATARD 

"  Here,  you  take  it,"  he  said,  passing  tne 
weapon  over. 

Webster  Shaw  laughed  shortly,  drew  a 
sight  between  the  gleaming  eyes,  and  pressed 
the  trigger.  Batard's  body  twitched  with  the 
shock,  threshed  the  ground  spasmodically  for 
a  moment,  and  went  suddenly  limp.  But  his 
teeth  still  held  fast  locked. 


THE    STORY    OF   JEES    UCK 


THE    STORY    OF   JEES    UCK1 

THERE  have  been  renunciations,  and 
renunciations.  But,  in  its  essence, 
renunciation  is  ever  the  same.  And 
the  paradox  of  it  is  that  men  and  women 
forego  the  dearest  thing  in  the  world  for  some 
thing  dearer.  It  was  never  otherwise.  Thus 
it  was  when  Abel  brought  of  the  firstlings  of 
his  flock  and  of  the  fat  thereof.  The  firstlings 
and  the  fat  thereof  were  to  him  the  dearest 
things  in  the  world  ;  yet  he  gave  them  over 
that  he  might  be  on  good  terms  with  God. 
So  it  was  with  Abraham  when  he  prepared 
to  offer  up  his  son  Isaac  on  a  stone.  Isaac 
was  very  dear  to  him ;  but  God,  in  incom 
prehensible  ways,  was  yet  dearer.  It  may  be 
that  Abraham  feared  the  Lord.  But  whether 
that  be  true  or  not,  it  has  since  been  deter 
mined  by  a  few  billion  people  that  he  loved 
the  Lord  and  desired  to  serve  Him. 

1  Copyright,  1903,  by  Smart  Set  Publishing  Company. 
235 


236        THE   STORY   OF   JEES   UCK 

And  since  it  has  been  determined  that  love 
is  service,  and  since  to  renounce  is  to  serve, 
then  Jees  Uck,  who  was  merely  a  woman  of 
a  swart-skinned  breed,  loved  with  a  great  love. 
She  was  unversed  in  history,  having  learned 
to  read  only  the  signs  of  weather  and  of  game ; 
so  she  had  never  heard  of  Abel,  nor  of  Abra 
ham  ;  nor,  having  escaped  the  good  sisters  at 
Holy  Cross,  had  she  been  told  the  story  of 
Ruth,  the  Moabitess,  who  renounced  her  very 
God  for  the  sake  of  a  stranger  woman  from 
a  strange  land.  Jees  Uck  had  learned  only 
one  way  of  renouncing,  and  that  was  with  a 
club  as  the  dynamic  factor,  in  much  the  same 
manner  as  a  dog  is  made  to  renounce  a  stolen 
marrow-bone.  Yet,  when  the  time  came,  she 
proved  herself  capable  of  rising  to  the  height 
of  the  fair-faced  royal  races  and  of  renouncing 
in  right  regal  fashion. 

So  this  is  the  story  of  Jees  Uck,  which  is 
also  the  story  of  Neil  Bonner,  and  Kitty 
Bonner,  and  a  couple  of  Neil  Bonner' s 
progeny.  Jees  Uck  was  of  a  swart-skinned 
breed,  it  is  true,  but  she  was  not  an  Indian  ; 


THE   STORY   OF  JEES    UCK        237 

nor  was  she  an  Eskimo ;  nor  even  an  Innuit. 
Going  backward  into  mouth  tradition,  there 
appears  the  figure  of  one  Skolkz,  a  Toyaat 
Indian  of  the  Yukon,  who  journeyed  down 
in  his  youth  to  the  Great  Delta  where  dwell 
the  Innuits,  and  where  he  forgathered  with  a 
woman  remembered  as  Olillie.  Now  the 
woman  Olillie  had  been  bred  from  an  Eskimo 
mother  by  an  Innuit  man.  And  from  Skolkz 
and  Olillie  came  Halie,  who  was  one-half 
Toyaat  Indian,  one-quarter  Innuit,  and  one- 
quarter  Eskimo.  And  Halie  was  the  grand 
mother  of  Jees  Uck. 

Now  Halie,  in  whom  three  stocks  had  been 
bastardized,  who  cherished  no  prejudice  against 
further  admixture,  mated  with  a  Russian  fur 
trader  called  Shpack,  also  known  in  his  time 
as  the  Big  Fat.  Shpack  is  herein  classed 
Russian  for  lack  of  a  more  adequate  term ;  for 
Shpack's  father,  a  Slavonic  convict  from  the 
Lower  Provinces,  had  escaped  from  the  quick 
silver  mines  into  Northern  Siberia,  where 
he  knew  Zimba,  who  was  a  woman  of  the 
Deer  People  and  who  became  the  mother  of 


238        THE   STORY    OF   JEES    UCK 

Shpack,  who  became  the  grandfather  of  Jees 
Uck. 

Now  had  not  Shpack  been  captured  in  his 
boyhood  by  the  Sea  People,  who  fringe  the 
rim  of  the  Arctic  Sea  with  their  misery,  he 
would  not  have  become  the  grandfather  of 
Jees  Uck  and  there  would  be  no  story  at  all. 
But  he  was  captured  by  the  Sea  People,  from 
whom  he  escaped  to  Kamchatka,  and  thence, 
on  a  Norwegian  whale-ship,  to  the  Baltic. 
Not  long  after  that  he  turned  up  in  St. 
Petersburg,  and  the  years  were  not  many  till 
he  went  drifting  east  over  the  same  weary 
road  his  father  had  measured  with  blood  and 
groans  a  half-century  before.  But  Shpack 
was  a  free  man,  in  the  employ  of  the  great 
Russian  Fur  Company.  And  in  that  employ 
he  fared  farther  and  farther  east,  until  he 
crossed  Bering  Sea  into  Russian  America ; 
and  at  Pastolik,  which  is  hard  by  the  Great 
Delta  of  the  Yukon,  became  the  husband 
of  Halie,  who  was  the  grandmother  of  Jees 
Uck.  Out  of  this  union  came  the  woman- 
child,  Tukesan. 


THE   STORY   OF   JEES    UCK        239 

Shpack,  under  the  orders  of  the  company, 
made  a  canoe  voyage  of  a  few  hundred  miles 
up  the  Yukon  to  the  post  of  Nulato.  With 
him  he  took  Halie  and  the  babe  Tukesan. 
This  was  in  1850,  and  in  1850  it  was  that 
the  river  Indians  fell  upon  Nulato  and  wiped 
it  from  the  face  of  the  earth.  And  that  was 
the  end  of  Shpack  and  Halie.  On  that  terri 
ble  night  Tukesan  disappeared.  To  this  day 
the  Toyaats  aver  they  had  no  hand  in  the 
trouble ;  but,  be  that  as  it  may,  the  fact  re 
mains  that  the  babe  Tukesan  grew  up  among 
them. 

Tukesan  was  married  successively  to  two 
Toyaat  brothers,  to  both  of  whom  she  was 
barren.  Because  of  this,  other  women  shook 
their  heads,  and  no  third  Toyaat  man  could 
be  found  to  dare  matrimony  with  the  child 
less  widow.  But  at  this  time,  many  hundred 
miles  above,  at  Fort  Yukon,  was  a  man,  Spike 
O'Brien.  'Fort  Yukon  was  a  Hudson  Bay 
Company  post,  and  Spike  O'Brien  one  of  the 
company's  servants.  He  was  a  good  servant, 
but  he  achieved  an  opinion  that  the  service 


24o        THE   STORY    OF   JEES    UCK 

was  bad,  and  in  the  course  of  time  vindicated 
that  opinion  by  deserting.  It  was  a  year's 
journey,  by  the  chain  of  posts,  back  to  York 
Factory  on  Hudson's  Bay.  Further,  being 
company  posts,  he  knew  he  could  not  evade 
the  company's  clutches.  Nothing  remained 
but  to  go  down  the  Yukon.  It  was  true  no 
white  man  had  ever  gone  down  the  Yukon, 
and  no  white  man  knew  whether  the  Yukon 
emptied  into  the  Arctic  Ocean  or  Bering  Sea  ; 
but  Spike  O'Brien  was  a  Celt,  and  the  prom 
ise  of  danger  was  a  lure  he  had  ever  followed. 
A  few  weeks  later,  somewhat  battered, 
rather  famished,  and  about  dead  with  river- 
fever,  he  drove  the  nose  of  his  canoe  into 
the  earth  bank  by  the  village  of  the  Toyaats 
and  promptly  fainted  away.  While  getting 
his  strength  back,  in  the  weeks  that  followed, 
he  looked  upon  Tukesan  and  found  her  good. 
Like  the  father  of  Shpack,  who  lived  to  a 
ripe  old  age  among  the  Siberian  Deer  People, 
Spike  O'Brien  might  have  left  his  aged  bones 
with  the  Toyaats.  But  romance  gripped  his 
heart-strings  and  would  not  let  him  stay.  As 


THE   STORY   OF   JEES    UCK        241 

he  had  journeyed  from  York  Factory  to  Fort 
Yukon,  so,  first  among  men,  might  he  journey 
from  Fort  Yukon  to  the  sea  and  win  the  honor 
of  being  the  first  man  to  make  the  Northwest 
Passage  by  land.  So  he  departed  down  the 
river,  won  the  honor,  and  was  unannaled  and 
unsung.  In  after  years  he  ran  a  sailors'  board 
ing-house  in  San  Francisco,  where  he  became 
esteemed  a  most  remarkable  liar  by  virtue 
of  the  gospel  truths  he  told.  But  a  child 
was  born  to  Tukesan,  who  had  been  childless. 
And  this  child  was  Jees  Uck.  Her  lineage 
has  been  traced  at  length  to  show  that  she 
was  neither  Indian,  nor  Eskimo,  nor  Innuit, 
nor  much  of  anything  else ;  also  to  show 
what  waifs  of  the  generations  we  are,  all  of 
us,  and  the  strange  meanderings  of  the  seed 
from  which  we  spring. 

What  with  the  vagrant  blood  in  her  and 
the  heritage  compounded  of  many  races,  Jees 
Uck  developed  a  wonderful  young  beauty. 
Bizarre,  perhaps,  it  was,  and  Oriental  enough 
to  puzzle  any  passing  ethnologist.  A  lithe 
and  slender  grace  characterized  her.  Beyond 

R 


242        THE   STORY   OF   JEES    UCK 

a  quickened  lilt  to  the  imagination,  the  con 
tribution  of  the  Celt  was  in  no  wise  apparent. 
It  might  possibly  have  put  the  warm  blood 
under  her  skin,  which  made  her  face  less  swart 
and  her  body  fairer;  but  that,  in  turn,  might 
have  come  from  Shpack,  the  Big  Fat,  who 
inherited  the  color  of  his  Slavonic  father. 
And,  finally,  she  had  great,  blazing  black 
eyes  —  the  half-caste  eye,  round,  full-orbed, 
and  sensuous,  which  marks  the  collision  of 
the  dark  races  with  the  light.  Also,  the 
white  blood  in  her,  combined  with  her  knowl 
edge  that  it  was  in  her,  made  her,  in  a  way, 
ambitious.  Otherwise,  by  upbringing  and  in 
outlook  on  life,  she  was  wholly  and  utterly 
a  Toyaat  Indian. 

One  winter,  when  she  was  a  young  woman, 
Neil  Bonner  came  into  her  life.  But  he  came 
into  her  life,  as  he  had  come  into  the  coun 
try,  somewhat  reluctantly.  In  fact,  it  was  very 
much  against  his  will,  coming  into  the  country. 
Between  a  father  who  clipped  coupons  and  cul 
tivated  roses,  and  a  mother  who  loved  the  social 
round,  Neil  Bonner  had  gone  rather  wild.  He 


THE   STORY    OF   JEES    UCK        243 

was  not  vicious,  but  a  man  with  meat  in  his 
belly  and  without  work  in  the  world  has  to 
expend  his  energy  somehow,  and  Neil  Bonner 
was  such  a  man.  And  he  expended  his  energy 
in  such  fashion  and  to  such  extent  that  when 
the  inevitable  climax  came,  his  father,  Neil 
Bonner,  senior,  crawled  out  of  his  roses  in  a 
panic  and  looked  on  his  son  with  a  wondering 
eye.  Then  he  hied  himself  away  to  a  crony 
of  kindred  pursuits,  with  whom  he  was  wont 
to  confer  over  coupons  and  roses,  and  between 
the  two  the  destiny  of  young  Neil  Bonner  was 
made  manifest.  He  must  go  away,  on  pro 
bation,  to  live  down  his  harmless  follies  in 
order  that  he  might  live  up  to  their  own  ex 
cellent  standard. 

This  determined  upon,  and  young  Neil  a 
little  repentant  and  a  great  deal  ashamed,  the 
rest  was  easy.  The  cronies  were  heavy  stock 
holders  in  the  P.  C.  Company.  The  P.  C. 
Company  owned  fleets  of  river-steamers  and 
ocean-going  craft,  and,  in  addition  to  farming 
the  sea,  exploited  a  hundred  thousand  square 
miles  or  so  of  the  land  that,  on  the  maps 


244        THE   STORY    OF   JEES   UCK 

of  geographers,  usually  occupies  the  white 
spaces.  So  the  P.  C.  Company  sent  young 
Neil  Bonner  north,  where  the  white  spaces 
are,  to  do  its  work  and  to  learn  to  be  good 
like  his  father.  "  Five  years  of  simplicity, 
close  to  the  soil  and  far  from  temptation,  will 
make  a  man  of  him,"  said  old  Neil  Bonner, 
and  forthwith  crawled  back  among  his  roses. 
Young  Neil  set  his  jaw,  pitched  his  chin  at  the 
proper  angle,  and  went  to  work.  As  an  under 
ling  he  did  his  work  well  and  gained  the 
commendation  of  his  superiors.  Not  that  he 
delighted  in  the  work,  but  that  it  was  the  one 
thing  that  prevented  him  from  going  mad. 

The  first  year  he  wished  he  was  dead. 
The  second  year  he  cursed  God.  The  third 
year  he  was  divided  between  the  two  emotions, 
and  in  the  confusion  quarrelled  with  a  man  in 
authority.  He  had  the  best  of  the  quarrel, 
though  the  man  in  authority  had  the  last  word, 
—  a  word  that  sent  Neil  Bonner  into  an  exile 
that  made  his  old  billet  appear  as  paradise. 
But  he  went  without  a  whimper,  for  the  North 
had  succeeded  in  making  him  into  a  man. 


THE   STORY    OF   JEES    UCK        245 

Here  and  there,  on  the  white  spaces  on  the 
map,  little  circlets  like  the  letter  "  o  "  are  to  be 
found,  and,  appended  to  these  circlets,  on  one 
side  or  the  other,  are  names  such  as  "  Fort 
Hamilton,"  «  Yanana  Station,"  "Twenty  Mile," 
thus  leading  one  to  imagine  that  the  white 
spaces  are  plentifully  besprinkled  with  towns 
and  villages.  But  it  is  a  vain  imagining. 
Twenty  Mile,  which  is  very  like  the  rest  of 
the  posts,  is  a  log  building  the  size  of  a  corner 
grocery  with  rooms  to  let  upstairs.  A  long- 
legged  cache  on  stilts  may  be  found  in  the 
back  yard ;  also  a  couple  of  outhouses.  The 
back  yard  is  unfenced,  and  extends  to  the 
sky-line  and  an  unascertainable  bit  beyond. 
There  are  no  other  houses  in  sight,  though  the 
Toyaats  sometimes  pitch  a  winter  camp  a  mile 
or  two  down  the  Yukon.  And  this  is  Twenty 
Mile,  one  tentacle  of  the  many-tentacled  P.  C. 
Company.  Here  the  agent,  with  an  assistant, 
barters  with  the  Indians  for  their  furs,  and 
does  an  erratic  trade  on  a  gold-dust  basis  with 
the  wandering  miners.  Here,  also,  the  agent 
and  his  assistant  yearn  all  winter  for  the  spring, 


246        THE   STORY   OF   JEES    UCK 

and  when  the  spring  comes,  camp  blasphe 
mously  on  the  roof  while  the  Yukon  washes 
out  the  establishment.  And  here,  also,  in  the 
fourth  year  of  his  sojourn  in  the  land,  came 
Neil  Bonner  to  take  charge. 

He  had  displaced  no  agent ;  for  the  man 
that  previously  ran  the  post  had  made  away 
with  himself;  "  because  of  the  rigors  of  the 
place,"  said  the  assistant,  who  still  remained ; 
though  the  Toyaats,  by  their  fires,  had  another 
version.  The  assistant  was  a  shrunken-shoul 
dered,  hollow-chested  man,  with  a  cadaverous 
face  and  cavernous  cheeks  that  his  sparse 
black  beard  could  not  hide.  He  coughed 
much,  as  though  consumption  gripped  his 
lungs;  while  his  eyes  had  that  mad,  fevered 
light  common  to  consumptives  in  the  last 
stage.  Pentley  was  his  name,  —  Amos  Pent- 
ley, —  and  Bonner  did  not  like  him,  though  he 
felt  a  pity  for  the  forlorn  and  hopeless  devil. 
They  did  not  get  along  together,  these  two 
men  who,  of  all  men,  should  have  been  on 
good  terms  in  the  face  of  the  cold  and  silence 
and  darkness  of  the  long  winter. 


THE   STORY   OF   JEES    UCK        247 

In  the  end,  Bonner  concluded  that  Amos 
was  partly  demented,  and  left  him  alone,  doing 
all  the  work  himself  except  the  cooking.  Even 
then,  Amos  had  nothing  but  bitter  looks  and 
an  undisguised  hatred  for  him.  This  was  a 
great  loss  to  Bonner;  for  the  smiling  face  of 
one  of  his  own  kind,  the  cheery  word,  the 
sympathy  of  comradeship  shared  with  misfor 
tune —  these  things  meant  much;  and  the 
winter  was  yet  young  when  he  began  to  realize 
the  added  reasons,  with  such  an  assistant,  that 
the  previous  agent  had  found  to  impel  his  own 
hand  against  his  life. 

It  was  very  lonely  at  Twenty  Mile.  The 
bleak  vastness  stretched  away  on  every  side 
to  the  horizon.  The  snow,  which  was  really 
frost,  flung  its  mantle  over  the  land  and  buried 
everything  in  the  silence  of  death.  For  days 
it  was  clear  and  cold,  the  thermometer  steadily 
recording  forty  to  fifty  degrees  below  zero. 
Then  a  change  came  over  the  face  of  things. 
What  little  moisture  had  oozed  into  the  atmos 
phere  gathered  into  dull  gray,  formless  clouds ; 
it  became  quite  warm,  the  thermometer  rising 


248        THE   STORY   OF   JEES    UCK 

to  twenty  below ;  and  the  moisture  fell  out  of 
the  sky  in  hard  frost-granules  that  hissed  like 
dry  sugar  or  driving  sand  when  kicked  under 
foot.  After  that  it  became  clear  and  cold 
again,  until  enough  moisture  had  gathered  to 
blanket  the  earth  from  the  cold  of  outer  space. 
That  was  all.  Nothing  happened.  No  storms, 
no  churning  waters  and  threshing  forests,  noth 
ing  but  the  machine-like  precipitation  of  ac 
cumulated  moisture.  Possibly  the  most  notable 
thing  that  occurred  through  the  weary  weeks 
was  the  gliding  of  the  temperature  up  to  the 
unprecedented  height  of  fifteen  below.  To 
atone  for  this,  outer  space  smote  the  earth 
with  its  cold  till  the  mercury  froze  and  the 
spirit  thermometer  remained  more  than  seventy 
below  for  a  fortnight,  when  it  burst.  There 
was  no  telling  how  much  colder  it  was  after 
that.  Another  occurrence,  monotonous  in  its 
regularity,  was  the  lengthening  of  the  nights, 
till  day  became  a  mere  blink  of  light  between 
the  darknesses. 

Neil  Bonner  was  a  social  animal.     The  very 
follies  for  which  he  was  doing  penance  had  been 


THE   STORY   OF   JEES    UCK        249 

bred  of  his  excessive  sociability.  And  here, 
in  the  fourth  year  of  his  exile,  he  found  him 
self  in  company  —  which  were  to  travesty  the 
word  —  with  a  morose  and  speechless  creature 
in  whose  sombre  eyes  smouldered  a  hatred 
as  bitter  as  it  was  unwarranted.  And  Bonner, 
to  whom  speech  and  fellowship  were  as  the 
breath  of  life,  went  about  as  a  ghost  might 
go,  tantalized  by  the  grecrarjoiis  revelrjes  of 
some  former  life.  In  the  day  his  lips  were 
compressed,  his  face  stern ;  but  in  the  night 
he  clenched  his  hands,  rolled  about  in  his 
blankets,  and  cried  aloud  like  a  little  child. 
And  he  would  remember  a  certain  man  in 
authority  and  curse  him  through  the  long 
hours.  Also,  he  cursed  God.  But  God 
understands.  He  cannot  find  it  in  His  heart 
to  blame  weak  mortals  who  blaspheme  in 
Alaska. 

And  here,  to  the  post  of  Twenty  Mile,  came 
Jees  Uck,  to  trade  for  flour  and  bacon,  and 
beads,  and  bright  scarlet  cloths  for  her  fancy 
work.  And  further,  and  unwittingly,  she  came 
to  the  post  of  Twenty  Mile  to  make  a  lonely 


250        THE   STbRY   OF   JEES    UCK 

man  more  lonely,  make  him  reach  out  empty 
arms  in  his  sleep.  For  Neil  Bonner  was  only 
a  man.  When  she  first  came  into  the  store,  he 
looked  at  her  long,  as  a  thirsty  man  may  look 
at  a  flowing  well.  And  she,  with  the  heritage 
bequeathed  her  by  Spike  O'Brien,  imagined 
daringly  and  smiled  up  into  his  eyes,  not  as  the 
swart-skinned  peoples  should  smile  at  the 
royal  races,  but  as  a  woman  smiles  at  a  man. 
The  thing  was  inevitable ;  only,  he  did  not  see 
it,  and  fought  against  her  as  fiercely  and  pas 
sionately  as  he  was  drawn  toward  her.  And 
she  ?  She  was  Jees  Uck,  by  upbringing  wholly 
and  utterly  a  Toyaat  Indian  woman. 

She  came  often  to  the  post  to  trade.  And 
often  she  sat  by  the  big  wood  stove  and 
chatted  in  broken  English  with  Neil  Bonner. 
And  he  came  to  look  for  her  coming ;  and  on 
the  days  she  did  not  come  he  was  worried  and 
restless.  Sometimes  he  stopped  to  think,  and 
then  she  was  met  coldly,  with  a  reserve  that 
perplexed  and  piqued  her,  and  which,  she  was 
convinced,  was  not  sincere.  But  more  often  he 
did  not  dare  to  think,  and  then  all  went  well 


THE   STORY   OF   JEES    UCK        251 

and  there  were  smiles  and  laughter.  And 
Amos  Pentley,  gasping  like  a  stranded  catfish, 
his  hollow  cough  a-reek  with  the  grave,  looked 
upon  it  all  and  grinned.  He,  who  loved  life, 
could  not  live,  and  it  rankled  his  soul  that 
others  should  be  able  to  live.  Wherefore  he 
hated  Bonner,  who  was  so  very  much  alive  and 
into  whose  eyes  sprang  joy  at  the  sight  of  Jees 
Uck.  As  for  Amos,  the  very  thought  of  the 
girl  was  sufficient  to  send  his  blood  pounding 
up  into  a  hemorrhage. 

Jees  Uck,  whose  mind  was  simple,  who 
thought  elementally  and  was  unused  to  weigh 
ing  life  in  its  subtler  quantities,  read  Amos 
Pentley  like  a  book.  She  warned  Bonner, 
openly  and  bluntly,  in  few  words ;  but  the 
complexities  of  higher  existence  confused  the 
situation  to  him,  and  he  laughed  at  her  evident 
anxiety.  To  him,  Amos  was  a  poor,  miserable 
devil,  tottering  desperately  into  the  grave. 
And  Bonner,  who  had  suffered  much,  found  it 
easy  to  forgive  greatly. 

But  one  morning,  during  a  bitter  snap,  he 
got  up  from  the  breakfast  table  and  went  into 


252        THE    STORY   OF   JEES    UCK 

the  store.  Jees  Uck  was  already  there,  rosy 
from  the  trail,  to  buy  a  sack  of  flour.  A  few 
minutes  later,  he  was  out  in  the  snow  lashing 
the  flour  on  her  sled.  As  he  bent  over  he 
noticed  a  stiffness  in  his  neck  and  felt  a  pre 
monition  of  impending  physical  misfortune. 
And  as  he  put  the  last  half-hitch  into  the 
lashing  and  attempted  to  straighten  up,  a 
quick  spasm  seized  him  and  he  sank  into  the 
snow.  Tense  and  quivering,  head  jerked  back, 
limbs  extended,  back  arched  and  mouth  twisted 
and  distorted,  he  appeared  as  though  being 
racked  limb  from  limb.  Without  cry  or 
sound,  Jees  Uck  was  in  the  snow  beside  him ; 
but  he  clutched  both  her  wrists  spasmodically, 
and  as  long  as  the  convulsion  endured  she  was 
helpless.  In  a  few  moments  the  spasm  relaxed 
and  he  was  left  weak  and  fainting,  his  forehead 
beaded  with  sweat,  his  lips  flecked  with  foam. 

"Quick  ! "  he  muttered,  in  a  strange,  hoarse 
voice.  "  Quick  !  Inside  !  " 

He  started  to  crawl  on  hands  and  knees, 
but  she  raised  him  up,  and,  supported  by  her 
young  arm,  he  made  faster  progress.  As  he 


THE   STORY    OF   JEES    UCK        253 

entered  the  store  the  spasm  seized  him  again, 
and  his  body  writhed  irresistibly  away  from 
her  and  rolled  and  curled  on  the  floor.  Amos 
Pentley  came  and  looked  on  with  curious  eyes. 

<c  Oh,  Amos !  "  she  cried  in  an  agony  of 
apprehension  and  helplessness,  "  him  die,  you 
think  P  "  But  Amos  shrugged  his  shoulders 
and  continued  to  look  on. 

Bonner's  body  went  slack,  the  tense  muscles 
easing  down  and  an  expression  of  relief  coming 
into  his  face.  "  Quick  !  "  he  gritted  between 
his  teeth,  his  mouth  twisting  with  the  on-com 
ing  of  the  next  spasm  and  with  his  effort  to 
control  it.  "  Quick,  Jees  Uck !  The  medi 
cine  !  Never  mind  !  Drag  me  !  " 

She  knew  where  the  medicine-chest  stood, 
at  the  rear  of  the  room,  beyond  the  stove,  and 
thither,  by  the  legs,  she  dragged  the  struggling 
man.  As  the  spasm  passed,  he  began,  very 
faint  and  very  sick,  to  overhaul  the  chest.  He 
had  seen  dogs  die  exhibiting  symptoms  similar 
to  his  own,  and  he  knew  what  should  be  done. 
He  held  up  a  vial  of  chloral  hydrate,  but  his 
fingers  were  too  weak  and  nerveless  to  draw 


254        THE    STORY    OF   JEES    UCK 

the  cork.  This  Jees  Uck  did  for  him,  while 
he  was  plunged  into  another  convulsion.  As 
he  came  out  of  it  he  found  the  open  bottle 
proffered  him  and  looked  into  the  great  black 
eyes  of  the  woman  and  read  what  men  have 
always  read  in  the  Mate-woman's  eyes.  Tak 
ing  a  full  dose  of  the  stuff,  he  sank  back  until 
another  spasm  had  passed.  Then  he  raised 
himself  limply  on  his  elbow. 

"  Listen,  Jees  Uck ! "  he  said  very  slowly, 
as  though  aware  of  the  necessity  for  haste  and 
yet  afraid  to  hasten.  "  Do  what  I  say.  Stay 
by  my  side,  but  do  not  touch  me.  I  must  be 
very  quiet,  but  you  must  not  go  away."  His 
jaw  began  to  set  and  his  face  to  quiver  and  dis 
tort  with  the  forerunning  pangs,  but  he  gulped 
and  struggled  to  master  them.  "  Do  not  go 
away.  And  do  not  let  Amos  go  away. 
Understand  !  Amos  must  stay  right  here." 

She  nodded  her  head,  and  he  passed  off  into 
the  first  of  many  convulsions,  which  gradually 
diminished  in  force  and  frequency.  Jees  Uck 
hung  over  him,  remembering  his  injunction 
and  not  daring  to  touch  him.  Once  Amos 


THE   STORY    OF   JEES    UCK         255 

grew  restless  and  made  as  though  to  go  into 
the  kitchen  ;  but  a  quick  blaze  from  her  eyes 
quelled  him,  and  after  that,  save  for  his  labored 
breathing  and  charnel  cough,  he  was  very 
quiet. 

Bonner  slept.  The  blink  of  light  that 
marked  the  day  disappeared.  Amos,  followed 
about  by  the  woman's  eyes,  lighted  the  kero 
sene  lamps.  Evening  came  on.  Through  the 
north  window  the  heavens  were  emblazoned 
with  an  auroral  display,  which  flamed  and  flared 
and  died  down  into  blackness.  Some  time 
after  that,  Neil  Bonner  roused.  First  he 
looked  to  see  that  Amos  was  still  there,  then 
smiled  at  Jees  Uck  and  pulled  himself  up. 
Every  muscle  was  stiff  and  sore,  and  he  smiled 
ruefully,  pressing  and  prodding  himself  as  if  to 
ascertain  the  extent  of  the  ravage.  Then  his 
face  went  stern  and  businesslike. 

"Jees  Uck,"  he  said,  Cf  take  a  candle.  Go 
into  the  kitchen.  There  is  food  on  the  table 
—  biscuits  and  beans  and  bacon  ;  also,  coffee 
in  the  pot  on  the  stove.  Bring  it  here  on  the 
counter.  Also,  bring  tumblers  and  water  and 


256        THE    STORY    OF   JEES    UCK 

whiskey,  which  you  will  find  on  the  top  shelf 
of  the  locker.  Do  not  forget  the  whiskey." 

Having  swallowed  a  stiff  glass  of  the  whis 
key,  he  went  carefully  through  the  medicine 
chest,  now  and  again  putting  aside,  with  definite 
purpose,  certain  bottles  and  vials.  Then  he 
set  to  work  on  the  food,  attempting  a  crude 
analysis.  He  had  not  been  unused  to  the 
laboratory  in  his  college  days  and  was  possessed 
of  sufficient  imagination  to  achieve  results  with 
his  limited  materials.  The  condition  of  tet 
anus,  which  had  marked  his  paroxysms,  simpli 
fied  matters,  and  he  made  but  one  test.  The 
coffee  yielded  nothing ;  nor  did  the  beans. 
To  the  biscuits  he  devoted  the  utmost  care. 
Amos,  who  knew  nothing  of  chemistry,  looked 
on  with  steady  curiosity.  But  Jees  Uck,  who 
had  boundless  faith  in  the  white  man's  wisdom, 
and  especially  in  Neil  Bonner's  wisdom,  and 
who  not  only  knew  nothing  but  knew  that  she 
knew  nothing,  watched  his  face  rather  than 
his  hands. 

Step  by  step  he  eliminated  possibilities, 
until  he  came  to  the  final  test.  Fie  was  using 


THE    STORY    OF   JEES    UCK        257 

a  thin  medicine  vial  for  a  tube,  and  this  he 
held  between  him  and  the  light,  watching  the 
slow  precipitation  of  a  salt  through  the  solu 
tion  contained  in  the  tube.  He  said  nothing, 
but  he  saw  what  he  had  expected  to  see.  And 
Jees  Uck,  her  eyes  riveted  on  his  face,  saw 
something,  too,  —  something  that  made  her 
spring  like  a  tigress  upon  Amos  and  with 
splendid  suppleness  and  strength  bend  his 
body  back  across  her  knee.  Her  knife  was 
out  of  its  sheath  and  uplifted,  glinting  in  the 
lamplight.  Amos  was  snarling;  but  Bonner 
intervened  ere  the  blade  could  fall. 

"  That's  a  good  girl,  Jees  Uck.  But  never 
mind.  Let  him  go  !  " 

She  dropped  the  man  obediently,  though 
with  protest  writ  large  on  her  face ;  and  his 
body  thudded  to  the  floor.  Bonner  nudged 
him  with  his  moccasined  foot. 

"  Get  up,  Amos ! "  he  commanded.  "  YouVe 
got  to  pack  an  outfit  yet  to-night  and  hit  the 
trail." 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  — "  Amos  blurted 
savagely, 
s 


258        THE    STORY    OF   JEES    UCK 

"  I  mean  to  say  that  you  tried  to  kill  me," 
Neil  went  on  in  cold,  even  tones.  "  I  mean 
to  say  that  you  killed  Birdsall,  for  all  the 
company  believes  he  killed  himself.  You 
used  strychnine  in  my  case.  God  knows  with 
what  you  fixed  him.  Now  I  can't  hang  you. 
You're  too  near  dead,  as  it  is.  But  Twenty 
Mile  is  too  small  for  the  pair  of  us,  and  you've 
got  to  mush.  It's  two  hundred  miles  to  Holy 
Cross.  You  can  make  it  if  you're  careful  not 
to  overexert.  I'll  give  you  grub,  a  sled,  and 
three  dogs.  You'll  be  as  safe  as  if  you  were 
in  jail,  for  you  can't  get  out  of  the  country. 
And  I'll  give  you  one  chance.  You're  almost 
dead.  Very  well.  I  shall  send  no  word  to 
the  company  until  the  spring.  In  the  mean 
time,  the  thing  for  you  to  do  is  to  die.  Now, 
mush  I " 

"You  go  to  bed ! "  Jees  Uck  insisted,  when 
Amos  had  churned  away  into  the  night  toward 
Holy  Cross.  "  You  sick  man  yet,  Neil.'* 

"  And  you're  a  good  girl,  Jees  Uck,"  he 
answered.  "  And  here's  my  hand  on  it.  But 
you  must  go  home." 


THE   STORY    OF    JEES    UCK         259 

"  You  don't  like  me,"  she  said  simply. 

He  smiled,  helped  her  on  with  her  parka, 
and  led  her  to  the  door.  "  Only  too  well, 
Jees  Uck,"  he  said  softly;  "only  too  well." 

After  that  the  pall  of  the  Arctic  night  fell 
deeper  and  blacker  on  the  land.  Neil  Bonner 
discovered  that  he  had  failed  to  put  proper 
valuation  upon  even  the  sullen  face  of  the 
murderous  and  death-stricken  Amos.  It  be 
came  very  lonely  at  Twenty  Mile.  "  For 
the  love  of  God,  Prentiss,  send  me  a  man," 
he  wrote  to  the  agent  at  Fort  Hamilton, 
three  hundred  miles  up  river.  Six  weeks 
later  the  Indian  messenger  brought  back  a 
reply.  It  was  characteristic  :  "  Hell.  Both 
feet  frozen.  Need  him  myself — Prentiss." 

To  make  matters  worse,  most  of  the  Toy- 
aats  were  in  the  back  country  on  the  flanks  of 
a  caribou  herd,  and  Jees  Uck  was  with  them. 
Removing  to  a  distance  seemed  to  bring  her 
closer  than  ever,  and  Neil  Bonner  found  him 
self  picturing  her,  day  by  day,  in  camp  and 
on  trail.  It  is  not  good  to  be  alone.  Often 
he  went  out  of  the  quiet  store,  bare-headed 


26o        THE   STORY    OF   JEES    UCK 

and  frantic,  and  shook  his  fist  at  the  blink  of 
day  that  came  over  the  southern  sky-line. 
And  on  still,  cold  nights  he  left  his  bed  and 
stumbled  into  the  frost,  where  he  assaulted  the 
silence  at  the  top  of  his  lungs,  as  though  it 
were  some  tangible,  sentient  thing  that  he 
might  arouse ;  or  he  shouted  at  the  sleeping 
dogs  till  they  howled  and  howled  again.  One 
shaggy  brute  he  brought  into  the  post,  playing 
that  it  was  the  new  man  sent  by  Prentiss.  He 
strove  to  make  it  sleep  decently  under  blankets 
at  night  and  to  sit  at  table  and  eat  as  a  man 
should ;  but  the  beast,  mere  domesticated  wolf 
that  it  was,  rebelled,  and  sought  out  dark  cor 
ners  and  snarled  and  bit  him  in  the  leg,  and 
was  finally  beaten  and  driven  forth. 

Then  the  trick  of  personification  seized 
upon  Neil  Bonner  and  mastered  him.  All  the 
forces  of  his  environment  metamorphosed  into 
living,  breathing  entities  and  came  to  live  with 
him.  He  re-created  the  primitive  pantheon ; 
reared  an  altar  to  the  sun  and  burned  candle 
fat  and  bacon  grease  thereon ;  and  in  the  un- 
fenced  yard,  by  the  long-legged  cache,  made  a 


THE    STORY    OF   JEES    UCK         261 

frost  devil,  which  he  was  wont  to  make  faces 
at  and  mock  when  the  mercury  oozed  down 
into  the  bulb.  All  this  in  play,  of  course. 
He  said  it  to  himself  that  it  was  in  play,  and 
repeated  it  over  and  over  to  make  sure,  un 
aware  that  madness  is  ever  prone  to  express 
itself  in  make-believe  and  play. 

One  midwinter  day,  Father  Champreau,  a 
Jesuit  missionary,  pulled  into  Twenty  Mile. 
Bonner  fell  upon  him  and  dragged  him  into 
the  post,  and  clung  to  him  and  wept,  until 
the  priest  wept  with  him  from  sheer  compas 
sion.  Then  Bonner  became  madly  hilarious 
and  made  lavish  entertainment,  swearing  val 
iantly  that  his  guest  should  not  depart.  But 
Father  Champreau  was  pressing  to  Salt  Water 
on  urgent  business  for  his  order,  and  pulled 
out  next  morning,  with  Bonner' s  blood  threat 
ened  on  his  head. 

And  the  threat  was  in  a  fair  way  toward 
realization,  when  the  Toyaats  returned  from 
their  long  hunt  to  the  winter  camp.  They 
had  many  furs,  and  there  was  much  trading 
and  stir  at  Twenty  Mile.  Also,  Jees  Uck 


262        THE   STORY   OF   JEES    UCK 

came  to  buy  beads  and  scarlet  cloths  and 
things,  and  Bonner  began  to  find  himself 
again.  He  fought  for  a  week  against  her. 
Then  the  end  came  one  night  when  she  rose 
to  leave.  She  had  not  forgotten  her  repulse, 
and  the  pride  that  drove  Spike  O'Brien  on 
to  complete  the  Northwest  Passage  by  land 
was  her  pride. 

"  I  go  now,"  she  said ;  "good  night,  Neil." 

But  he  came  up  behind  her.  "  Nay,  it  is 
not  well,"  he  said. 

And  as  she  turned  her  face  toward  his  with 
a  sudden  joyful  flash,  he  bent  forward,  slowly 
and  gravely,  as  it  were  a  sacred  thing,  and 
kissed  her  on  the  lips.  The  Toyaats  had 
never  taught  her  the  meaning  of  a  kiss  upon 
the  lips,  but  she  understood  and  was  glad. 

With  the  coming  of  Jees  Uck,  at  once  things 
brightened  up.  She  was  regal  in  her  happi 
ness,  a  source  of  unending  delight.  The 
elemental  workings  of  her  mind  and  her  nai've 
little  ways  made  an  immense  sum  of  pleasurable 
surprise  to  the  overcivilized  man  that  had 
stooped  to  catch  her  up.  Not  alone  was  she 


THE   STORY   OF   JEES    UCK        263 

solace,  to  his  loneliness,  but  her  primitiveness 
rejuvenated  his  jaded  mind.  It  was  as  though, 
after  long  wandering,  he  had  returned  to  pil 
low  his  head  in  the  lap  of  Mother  Earth. 
In  short,  in  Jees  Uck  he  found  the  youth  of 
the  world — -the  youth  and  the  strength  and 
the  joy. 

And  to  fill  the  full  round  of  his  need,  and 
that  they  might  not  see  overmuch  of  each 
other,  there  arrived  at  Twenty  Mile  one  Sandy 
MacPherson,  as  companionable  a  man  as  ever 
whistled  along  the  trail  or  raised  a  ballad  by  a 
camp-fire.  A  Jesuit  priest  had  run  into  his 
camp,  a  couple  of  hundred  miles  up  the  Yukon, 
in  the  nick  of  time  to  say  a  last  word  over  the 
body  of  Sandy's  partner.  And  on  departing, 
the  priest  had  said,  "  My  son,  you  will  be 
lonely  now."  And  Sandy  had  bowed  his 
head  brokenly.  "At  Twenty  Mile,"  the 
priest  added,  "  there  is  a  lonely  man.  You 
have  need  of  each  other,  my  son." 

So  it  was  that  Sandy  became  a  welcome 
third  at  the  post,  brother  to  the  man  and 
woman  that  resided  there.  He  took  Bonner 


264        THE   STORY   OF   JEES    UCK 

moose-hunting  and  wolf-trapping ;  and,  in  re 
turn,  Bonner  resurrected  a  battered  and  way 
worn  volume  and  made  him  friends  with 
Shakespeare,  till  Sandy  declaimed  iambic  pen 
tameters  to  his  sled-dogs  whenever  they  waxed 
mutinous.  And  of  the  long  evenings  they 
played  cribbage  and  talked  and  disagreed  about 
the  universe,  the  while  Jees  Uck  rocked  ma 
tronly  in  an  easy-chair  and  darned  their  moc 
casins  and  socks. 

Spring  came.  The  sun  shot  up  out  of  the 
south.  The  land  exchanged  its  austgre- robes 
for  the  garb  of  a  smiling  wanton.  Everywhere 
light  laughed  and  HffT  invited.  The  days 
stretched  out  their  balmy  length  and  the  nights 
passed  from  blinks  of  darkness  to  no  dark 
ness  at  all.  The  river  bared  its  bosom,  and 
snorting  steamboats  challenged  the  wilderness. 
There  were  stir  and  bustle,  new  faces,  and  fresh 
facts.  An  assistant  arrived  at  Twenty  Mile, 
and  Sandy  MacPherson  wandered  off  with  a 
bunch  of  prospectors  to  invade  the  Koyokuk 
country.  And  there  were  newspapers  and 
magazines  and  letters  for  Neil  Bonner.  And 


THE   STORY    OF   JEES   UCK         265 

Jees  Uck  looked  on  in  worrimentj  for  she 
knew  his  kindred  talked  with  him  across  the 
world. 

Without  much  shock,  it  came  to  him  that 
his  father  was  dead.  There  was  a  sweet  let 
ter  of  forgiveness,  dictated  in  his  last  hours. 
There  were  official  letters  from  the  company, 
graciously  ordering  him  to  turn  the  post  over 
to  the  assistant  and  permitting  him  to  depart 
at  his  earliest  pleasure.  A  long,  legal  affair 
from  the  lawyers  informed  him  of  interminable 
lists  of  stocks  and  bonds,  real  estate,  rents,  and 
chattels  that  were  his  by  his  father's  will.  And 
a  dainty  bit  of  stationery,  sealed  and  mono- 
grammed,  implored  dear  Neil's  return  to  his 
heart-broken  and  loving  mother. 

Neil  Bonner  did  some  swift  thinking,  and 
when  the  Yukon  Belle  coughed  in  to  the  bank  on 
her  way  down  to  Bering  Sea,  he  departed  — 
departed  with  the  ancient  lie  of  quick  return 
young  and  blithe  on  his  lips. 

"  I'll  come  back,  dear  Jees  Uck,  before  the 
first  snow  flies,"  he  promised  her,  between 
the  last  kisses  at  the  gang-plank. 


266        THE   STORY    OF   JEES    UCK 

And  not  only  did  he  promise,  but,  like  the 
majority  of  men  under  the  same  circumstances, 
he  really  meant  it.  To  John  Thompson,  the 
new  agent,  he  gave  orders  for  the  extension 
of  unlimited  credit  to  his  wife,  Jees  Uck. 
Also,  with  his  last  look  from  the  deck  of 
the  Yukon  Eelle^  he  saw  a  dozen  men  at  work 
rearing  the  logs  that  were  to  make  the  most 
comfortable  house  along  a  thousand  miles  of 
river  front  —  the  house  of  Jees  Uck,  and 
likewise  the  house  of  Neil  Bonner  —  ere  the 
first  flurry  of  snow.  For  he  fully  and  fondly 
meant  to  come  back.  Jees  Uck  was  dear  to 
him,  and,  further,  a  golden  future  awaited  the 
North.  With  his  father's  money  he  intended 
to  verify  that  future.  An  ambitious  dream 
allured  him.  With  his  four  years  of  experi 
ence,  and  aided  by  the  friendly  cooperation 
of  the  P.  C.  Company,  he  would  return  to 
become  the  Rhodes  of  Alaska.  And  he  would 
return,  fast  as  steam  could  drive,  as  soon  as 
he  had  put  into  shape  the  affairs  of  his  father, 
whom  he  had  never  known,  and  comforted 
his  mother,  whom  he  had  forgotten. 


THE    STORY    OF   JEES    UCK         267 

There  was  much  ado  when  Neil  Bonner 
came  back  from  the  Arctic.  The  fires  were 
lighted  and  the  fleshpots  slung,  and  he  took 
of  it  all  and  called  it  good.  Not  only  was 
he  bronzed  and  creased,  but  he  was  a  new 
man  under  his  skin,  with  a  grip  on  things 
and  a  seriousness  and  control.  His  old  com 
panions  were  amazed  when  he  declined  to 
hit  up  the  pace  in  the  good  old  way,  while 
his  father's  crony  rubbed  hands  gleefully,  and 
became  an  authority  upon  the  reclamation  of 
wayward  and  idle  youth. 

For  four  years  Neil  Bonner's  mind  had  lain 
fallow.  Little  that  was  new  had  been  added 
to  it,  but  it  had  undergone  a  process  of  selec 
tion.  It  had,  so  to  say,  been  purged  of  the 
trivial  and  superfluous.  He  had  lived  quick 
years,  down  in  the  world ;  and,  up  in  the 
wilds,  time  had  been  given  him  to  organize 
the  confused  mass  of  his  experiences.  His 
superficial  standards  had  been  flung  to  the 
winds  and  new  standards  erected  on  deeper  and 
broader  generalizations.  Concerning  civiliza 
tion,  he  had  gone  away  with  one  set  of  values, 


268        THE    STORY   OF   JEES    UCK 

had  returned  with  another  set  of  values. 
Aided,  also,  by  the  earth  smells  in  his  nostrils 
and  the  earth  sights  in  his  eyes,  he  laid  hold 
of  the  inner  significance  of  civilization,  be 
holding  with  clear  vision  its  futilities  and 
powers.  It  was  a  simple  little  philosophy 
he  evolved.  Clean  living  was  the  way  to 
grace.  Duty  performed  was  sanctification, 
One  must  live  clean  and  do  his  duty  in  order 
that  he  might  work.  Work  was  salvation. 
And  to  work  toward  life  abundant,  and  more 
abundant,  was  to  be  in  line  with  the  scheme 
of  things  and  the  will  of  God. 

Primarily,  he  was  of  the  city.  And  his 
fresh  earth  grip  and  virile  conception  of 
humanity  gave  him  a  finer  sense  of  civiliza 
tion  and  endeared  civilization  to  him.  Day 
by  day  the  people  of  the  city  clung  closer  to 
him  and  the  world  loomed  more  colossal. 
And,  day  by  day,  Alaska  grew  more  remote 
and  less*  real.  And  then  he  met  Kitty  Sharon 
—  a  woman  of  his  own  flesh  and  blood  and 
kind ;  a  woman  who  put  her  hand  into  his 
hand  and  drew  him  to  her,  till  he  forgot  the 


THE   STORY   OF   JEES    UCK        269 

day  and  hour  and  the  time  of  the  year  the 
first  snow  flies  on  the  Yukon. 

Jees  Uck  moved  into  her  grand  log-house 
and  dreamed  away  three  golden  summer 
months.  Then  came  the  autumn,  post-haste 
before  the  down  rush  of  winter.  The  air 
grew  thin  and  sharp,  the  days  thin  and 
short.  The  river  ran  sluggishly,  and  skin 
ice  formed  in  the  quiet  eddies.  All  migra 
tory  life  departed  south,  and  silence  fell  upon 
the  land.  The  first  snow  flurries  came,  and 
the  last  homing  steamboat  bucked  desper 
ately  into  the  running  mush  ice.  Then  came 
the  hard  ice,  solid  cakes  and  sheets,  till  the 
Yukon  ran  level  with  its  banks.  And 
when  all  this  ceased  the  river  stood  still 
and  the  blinking  days  lost  themselves  in  the 
darkness. 

John  Thompson,  the  new  agent,  laughed ; 
but  Jees  Uck  had  faith  in  the  mischances  of 
sea  and  river.  Neil  Bonner  might  be  frozen 
in  anywhere  between  Chilkoot  Pass  and  St. 
Michael's,  for  the  last  travellers  of  the  year 
are  always  caught  by  the  ice,  when  they  ex- 


270        THE   STORY   OF  JEES    UCK 

change  boat  for  sled  and  dash  on  through 
the  long  hours  behind  the  flying  dogs. 

But  no  flying  dogs  came  up  the  trail,  nor 
down  the  trail,  to  Twenty  Mile.  And  John 
Thompson  told  Jees  Uck,  with  a  certain  glad 
ness  ill  concealed,  that  Bonner  would  never  come 
back  again.  Also,  and  brutally,  he  suggested 
his  own  eligibility.  Jees  Uck  laughed  in  his 
face  and  went  back  to  her  grand  log-house. 
But  when  midwinter  came,  when  hope  dies 
down  and  life  is  at  its  lowest  ebb,  Jees  Uck 
found  she  had  no  credit  at  the  store.  This 
was  Thompson's  doing,  and  he  rubbed  his 
hands,  and  walked  up  and  down,  and  came 
to  his  door  and  looked  up  at  Jees  Uck's 
house,  and  waited.  And  he  continued  to 
wait.  She  sold  her  dog-team  to  a  party  of 
miners  and  paid  cash  for  her  food.  And 
when  Thompson  refused  to  honor  even  her 
coin,  Toyaat  Indians  made  her  purchases,  and 
sledded  them  up  to  her  house  in  the  dark. 

In  February  the  first  post  came  in  over  the 
ice,  and  John  Thompson  read  in  the  society 
column  of  a  five  months'  old  paper  of  the 


THE   STORY   OF   JEES   UCK        271 

marriage  of  Neil  Bonner  and  Kitty  Sharon. 
Jees  Uck  held  the  door  ajar  and  him  outside 
while  he  imparted  the  information ;  and,  when 
he  had  done,  laughed  pridefully  and  did  not 
believe.  In  March,  and  all  alone,  she  gave 
birth  to  a  man-child,  a  brave  bit  of  new  life 
at  which  she  marvelled.  And  at  that  hour, 
a  year  later,  Neil  Bonner  sat  by  another  bed, 
marvelling  at  another  bit  of  new  life  that 
had  fared  into  the  world. 

The  snow  went  off  the  ground  and  the  ice 
broke  out  of  the  Yukon.  The  sun  journeyed 
north,  and  journeyed  south  again ;  and,  the 
money  from  the  dogs  being  spent,  Jees  Uck 
went  back  to  her  own  people.  Oche  Ish,  a 
shrewd  hunter,  proposed  to  kill  the  meat  for 
her  and  her  babe,  and  catch  the  salmon,  if 
she  would  marry  him.  And  Imego  and  Hah 
Yo  and  Wy  Nooch,  husky  young  hunters  all, 
made  similar  proposals.  But  she  elected  to 
live  alone  and  seek  her  own  meat  and  fish. 
She  sewed  moccasins  and  parkas  and  mittens 
—  warm,  serviceable  things,  and  pleasing  to 
the  eye,  withal,  what  of  the  ornamental  hair- 


272        THE   STORY    OF   JEES    UCK 

tufts  and  bead  work.  These  she  sold  to  the 
miners,  who  were  drifting  faster  into  the  land 
each  year.  And  not  only  did  she  win  food 
that  was  good  and  plentiful,  but  she  laid 
money  by,  and  one  day  took  passage  on  the 
Tukon  Belle  down  the  river. 

At  St.  Michael's  she  washed  dishes  in  the 
kitchen  of  the  post.  The  servants  of  the  com 
pany  wondered  at  the  remarkable  woman  with 
the  remarkable  child,  though  they  asked  no 
questions  and  she  vouchsafed  nothing.  But 
just  before  Bering  Sea  closed  in  for  the  year, 
she  bought  a  passage  south  on  a  strayed  seal 
ing  schooner.  That  winter  she  cooked  for 
Captain  Markheim's  household  at  Unalaska, 
and  in  the  spring  continued  south  to  Sitka  on 
a  whiskey  sloop.  Later,  she  appeared  at  Met- 
lakahtla,  which  is  near  to  St.  Mary's  on  the 
end  of  the  Pan-Handle,  where  she  worked 
in  the  cannery  through  the  salmon  season. 
When  autumn  came  and  the  Siwash  fishermen 
prepared  to  return  to  Puget  Sound,  she  em 
barked  with  a  couple  of  families  in  a  big  cedar 
canoe  ;  and  with  them  she  threaded  the  hazard- 


THE   STORY   OF   JEES    UCK        273 

ous  chaos  of  the  Alaskan  and  Canadian  coasts, 
till  the  Straits  of  Juan  de  Fuca  were  passed 
and  she  led  her  boy  by  the  hand  up  the  hard 
pave  of  Seattle. 

There  she  met  Sandy  MacPherson,  on  a 
windy  corner,  very  much  surprised  and,  when 
he  had  heard  her  story,  very  wroth  —  not  so 
wroth  as  he  might  have  been,  had  he  known 
of  Kitty  Sharon  ;  but  of  her  Jees  Uck  breathed 
no  word,  for  she  had  never  believed.  Sandy, 
who  read  commonplace  and  sordid  desertion 
into  the  circumstance,  strove  to  dissuade  her 
from  her  trip  to  San  Francisco,  where  Neil 
Bonner  was  supposed  to  live  when  he  was  at 
home.  And,  having  striven,  he  made  her  com 
fortable,  bought  her  tickets  and  saw  aer  off, 
the  while  smiling  in  her  face  and  muttering 
"  damshame  "  into  his  beard. 

With  roar  and  rumble,  through  daylight  and 
dark,  swaying  and  lurching  between  the  dawns, 
soaring  into  the  winter  snows  and  sinking 
to  summer  valleys,  skirting  depths,  leaping 
chasms,  piercing  mountains,  Jees  Uck  and  her 
boy  were  hurled  south.  .  But  she  had  no  fear 


274        THE   STORY   OF   JEES    UCK 

of  the  iron  stallion ;  nor  was  she  stunned  by 
this  masterful  civilization  of  Neil  Bonner's 
people.  It  seemed,  rather,  that  she  saw  with 
greater  clearness  the  wonder  that  a  man  of  such 
godlike  race  had  held  her  in  his  arms.  The 
screaming  medley  of  San  Francisco,  with  its 
restless  shipping,  belching  factories,  and  thun 
dering  traffic,  did  not  confuse  her ;  instead,  she 
comprehended  swiftly  the  pitiful  sordidness  of 
Twenty  Mile  and  the  skin-lodged  Toyaat  vil 
lage.  And  she  looked  down  at  the  boy  that 
clutched  her  hand  and  wondered  that  she  had 
borne  him  by  such  a  man. 

She  paid  the  hack-driver  five  prices  and 
went  up  the  stone  steps  to  Neil  Bonner's  front 
door.  A  slant-eyed  Japanese  parleyed  with 
her  for  a  fruitless  space,  then  led  her  inside 
and  disappeared.  She  remained  in  the  hall, 
which  to  her  simple  fancy  seemed  to  be  the 
guest  room  —  the  show-place  wherein  were  ar 
rayed  all  the  household  treasures  with  the 
frank  purpose  of  parade  and  dazzlement. 
The  walls  and  ceiling  were  of  oiled  and 
panelled  redwood.  The  floor  was  more  glassy 


THE    STORY   OF   JEES    UCK        275 

than  glare  ice,  and  she  sought  standing  place 
on  one  of  the  great  skins  that  gave  a  sense 
of  security  to  the  polished  surface.  A  huge 
fireplace  —  an  extravagant  fireplace,  she  deemed 
it  —  yawned  in  the  farther  wall.  A  flood  of 
light,  mellowed  by  stained  glass,  fell  across 
the  room,  and  from  the  far  end  came  the 
white  gleam  of  a  marble  figure. 

This  much  she  saw,  and  more,  when  the 
slant-eyed  servant  led  the  way  past  another 
room  —  of  which  she  caught  a  fleeting  glance 
—  and  into  a  third,  both  of  which  dimmed 
the  brave  show  of  the  entrance  hall.  And  to 
her  eyes  the  great  house  seemed  to  hold  out 
a  promise  of  endless  similar  rooms.  There 
was  such  length  and  breadth  to  them,  and 
the  ceilings  were  so  far  away  !  For  the  first 
time  since  her  advent  into  the  white  man's 
civilization,  a  feeling  of  awe  laid  hold  of  her. 
Neil,  her  Neil,  lived  in  this  house,  breathed 
the  air  of  it,  and  lay  down  at  night  and  slept ! 
It  was  beautiful,  all  this  that  she  saw,  and  it 
pleased  her ;  but  she  felt,  also,  the  wisdom 
and  mastery  behind.  It  was  the  concrete 


276        THE   STORY    OF   JEES    UCK 

expression  of  power  in  terms  of  beauty,  and 
it  was  the  power  that  she  unerringly'  divined. 

And  then  came  a  woman,  queenly  tall, 
crowned  with  a  glory  of  hair  that  was  like  a 
golden  sun.  She  seemed  to  come  toward 
Jees  Uck  as  a  ripple  of  music  across  still 
water ;  her  sweeping  garment  itself  a  song, 
her  body  playing  rhythmically  beneath.  Jees 
Uck  was  herself  a  man  compeller.  There 
were  Oche  Ish  and  Imego  and  Hah  Yo  and 
Wy  Nooch,  to  say  nothing  of  Neil  Bonner 
and  John  Thompson  and  other  white  men 
that  had  looked  upon  her  and  felt  her  power. 
But  she  gazed  upon  the  wide  blue  eyes  and 
rose-white  skin  of  this  woman  that  advanced 
to  meet  her,  and  she  measured  her  with 
woman's  eyes  looking  through  man's  eyes ; 
and  as  a  man  compeller  she  felt  herself  dimin 
ish  and  grow  insignificant  before  this  radiant 
and  flashing  creature. 

"  You  wish  to  see  my  husband  ? "  the 
woman  asked ;  and  Jees  Uck  gasped  at  the 
liquid  silver  of  a  voice  that  had  never  sounded 
harsh  cries  at  snarling  wolf  dogs,  nor  moulded 


THE    STORY   OF  JEES    UCK        277 

itself  to  a  guttural  speech,  nor  toughened  in 
storm  and  frost  and  camp  smoke. 

"  No,"  Jees  Uck  answered  slowly  and  grop 
ingly,  in  order  that  she  might  do  justice  to  her 
English.  "  I  come  to  see  Neil  Bonner." 

"  He  is  my  husband,"  the  woman  laughed. 

Then  it  was  true  !  John  Thompson  had 
not  lied  that  bleak  February  day,  when  she 
laughed  pridefully  and  shut  the  door  in  his 
face.  As  once  she  had  thrown  Amos  Pentley 
across  her  knee  and  ripped  her  knife  into  the 
air,  so  now  she  felt  impelled  to  spring  upon 
this  woman  and  bear  her  back  and  down, 
and  tear  the  life  out  of  her  fair  body.  But 
Jees  Uck  was  thinking  quickly  and  gave  no 
sign,  and  Kitty  Bonner  little  dreamed  how 
intimately  she  had  for  an  instant  been  related 
with  sudden  death. 

Jees  Uck  nodded  her  head  that  she  under 
stood,  and  Kitty  Bonner  explained  that  Neil 
was  expected  at  any  moment.  Then  they 
sat  down  on  ridiculously  comfortable  chairs, 
and  Kitty  sought  to  entertain  her  strange 
visitor,  and  Jees  Uck  strove  to  help  her. 


278         THE    STORY    OF   JEES    UCK 

"  You  knew  my  husband  in  the  North  ? " 
Kitty  asked,  once. 

"Sure.  I  wash  um  clothes,"  Jees  Uck  had 
answered,  her  English  abruptly  beginning  to 
grow  atrocious. 

"  And  this  is  your  boy  ?  I  have  a  little 
girl." 

Kitty  caused  her  daughter  to  be  brought, 
and  while  the  children,  after  their  manner, 
struck  an  acquaintance,  the  mothers  indulged 
in  the  talk  of  mothers  and  drank  tea  from  cups 
so  fragile  that  Jees  Uck  feared  lest  hers  should 
crumble  to  pieces  between  her  fingers.  Never 
had  she  seen  such  cups,  so  delicate  and  dainty. 
In  her  mind  she  compared  them  with  the 
woman  who  poured  the  tea,  and  there  uprose 
in  contrast  the  gourds  and  pannikins  of  the 
Toyaat  village  and  the  clumsy  mugs  of  Twenty 
Mile,  to  which  she  likened  herself.  And  in 
such  fashion  and  such  terms  the  problem  pre 
sented  itself.  She  was  beaten.  There  was  a 
woman  other  than  herself  better  fitted  to  bear 
and  upbring  Neil  Bonner's  children.  Just  as 
his  people  exceeded  her  people,  so  did  his 


THE    STORY    OF   JEES    UCK        279 

womenkind  exceed  her.  They  were  the  man 
compellers,  as  their  men  were  the  world  com- 
pellers.  She  looked  at  the  rose-white  tenderness 
of  Kitty  Bonner's  skin  and  remembered  the 
sun-beat  on  her  own  face.  Likewise  she  looked 
from  brown  hand  to  white  —  the  one,  work- 
worn  and  hardened  by  whip  handle  and  paddle, 
the  other  as  guiltless  of  toil  and  soft  as  a  new 
born  babe's.  And,  for  all  the  obvious  softness 
and  apparent  weakness,  Jees  Uck  looked  into  the 
blue  eyes  and  saw  the  mastery  she  had  seen  in 
Neil  Bonner's  eyes  and  in  the  eyes  of  Neil 
Bonner's  people. 

"  Why,  it's  Jees  Uck  !  "  Neil  Bonner  said, 
when  he  entered.  He  said  it  calmly,  with  even 
a  ring  of  joyful  cordiality,  coming  over  to  her 
and  shaking  both  her  hands,  but  looking  into 
her  eyes  with  a  worry  in  his  own  that  she 
understood. 

"Hello,  Neil!"  she  said.  "You  look 
much  good." 

"  Fine,  fine,  Jees  Uck,"  he  answered 
heartily,  though  secretly  studying  Kitty  for 
some  sign  of  what  had  passed  between  the  two. 


280        THE   STORY   OF  JEES    UCK 

Yet  he  knew  his  wife  too  well  to  expect, 
even  though  the  worst  had  passed,  such  a 
sign. 

"Well,  I  can't  say  how  glad  I  am  to  see 
you,"  he  went  on.  "  What's  happened  ?  Did 
you  strike  a  mine  ?  And  when  did  you  get 
in?" 

"  Oo-a,  I  get  in  to-day, "  she  replied,  her 
voice  instinctively  seeking  its  guttural  parts. 
"  I  no  strike  it,  Neil.  You  know  Cap'n 
Markheim,  Unalaska?  I  cook,  his  house, 
long  time.  No  spend  money.  Bime-by, 
plenty.  Pretty  good,  I  think,  go  down  and 
see  White  Man's  Land.  Very  fine,  White 
Man's  Land,  very  fine,"  she  added.  Her 
English  puzzled  him,  for  Sandy  and  he  had 
sought,  constantly,  to  better  her  speech,  and 
she  had  proved  an  apt  pupil.  Now  it  seemed 
that  she  had  sunk  back  into  her  race.  Her 
face  was  guileless,  stolidly  guileless,  giving  no 
cue.  Kitty's  untroubled  brow  likewise  baffled 
him.  What  had  happened  ?  How  much  had 
been  said  ?  and  how  much  guessed  ? 

While  he  wrestled  with  these  questions  and 


THE   STORY    OF   JEES    UCK        281 

while  Jees  Uck  wrestled  with  her  problem  — 
never  had  he  looked  so  wonderful  and  great  — 
a  silence  fell. 

"  To  think  that  you  knew  my  husband  in 
Alaska  !  "  Kitty  said  softly. 

Knew  him  !  Jees  Uck  could  not  forbear  a 
glance  at  the  boy  she  had  borne  him,  and  his 
eyes  followed  hers  mechanically  to  the  window 
where  played  the  two  children.  An  iron  band 
seemed  to  tighten  across  his  forehead.  His 
knees  went  weak  and  his  heart  leaped  up  and 
pounded  like  a  fist  against  his  breast.  His 
boy  !  He  had  never  dreamed  it ! 

Little  Kitty  Bonner,  fairylike  in  gauzy  lawn, 
with  pinkest  of  cheeks  and  bluest  of  dancing 
eyes,  arms  outstretched  and  lips  puckered  in 
invitation,  was  striving  to  kiss  the  boy.  And 
the  boy,  lean  and  lithe,  sunbeaten  and  browned, 
skin-clad  and  in  hair-fringed  and  hair-tufted 
muclucs  that  showed  the  wear  of  the  sea  and 
rough  work,  coolly  withstood  her  advances, 
his  body  straight  and  stiff  with  the  peculiar 
erectness  common  to  children  of  savage  people. 
A  stranger  in  a  strange  land,  unabashed  and 


282        THE    STORY    OF   JEES    UCK 

unafraid,  he  appeared  more  like  an  untamed 
animal,  silent  and  watchful,  his  black  eyes 
flashing  from  face  to  face,  quiet  so  long  as 
quiet  endured,  but  prepared  to  spring  and  fight 
and  tear  and  scratch  for  life,  at  the  first  sign 
of  danger. 

The  contrast  between  boy  and  girl  was  strik 
ing,  but  not  pitiful.  There  was  too  much 
strength  in  the  boy  for  that,  waif  that  he  was  of 
the  generations  of  Shpack,  Spike  O'Brien,  and 
Bonner.  In  his  features,  clean  cut  as  a  cameo 
and  almost  classic  in  their  severity,  there  were 
the  power  and  achievement  of  his  father,  and 
his  grandfather,  and  the  one  known  as  the  Big 
Fat,  who  was  captured  by  the  Sea  People  and 
escaped  to  Kamchatka. 

Neil  Bonner  fought  his  emotion  down,  swal 
lowed  it  down,  and  choked  over  it,  though  his 
face  smiled  with  good  humor  and  the  joy  with 
which  one  meets  a  friend. 

"  Your  boy,  eh,  Jees  Uck  ?  "  he  said.  And 
then  turning  to  Kitty :  "  Handsome  fellow  ! 
He'll  do  something  with  those  two  hands  of 
his  in  this  our  world." 


THE   STORY   OF   JEES    UCK        283 

Kitty  nodded  concurrence.  "  What  is  your 
name  ?  "  she  asked. 

The  young  savage  flashed  his  quick  eyes 
upon  her  and  dwelt  over  her  for  a  space,  seek 
ing  out,  as  it  were,  the  motive  beneath  the 
question. 

"  Neil,"  he  answered  deliberately  when  the 
scrutiny  had  satisfied  him. 

"  Injun  talk,"  Jees  Uck  interposed,  glibly 
manufacturing  languages  on  the  spur  of  the 
moment.  "  Him  Injun  talk,  nee-al,  all  the 
same  'cracker/  Him  baby,  him  like  cracker; 
him  cry  for  cracker.  Him  say,  c  Nee-aly  nee-aly 
all  time  him  say,  (  Nee-aU  Then  I  say  that  um 
name.  So  um  name  all  time  Nee-al." 

Never  did  sound  more  blessed  fall  upon 
Neil  Bonner's  ear  than  that  lie  from  Jees  Uck's 
lips.  It  was  the  cue,  and  he  knew  there  was 
reason  for  Kitty's  untroubled  brow. 

"And  his  father?"  Kitty  asked.  "He 
must  be  a  fine  man." 

"Oo-a,  yes,"  was  the  reply.  "  Um  father 
fine  man.  Sure  !  " 

"  Did  you  know  him,  Neil  ?  "  queried  Kitty. 


284        THE   STORY   OF   JEES    UCJC 

"  Know  him  ?  Most  intimately,"  Neil  an 
swered,  and  harked  back  to  dreary  Twenty 
Mile  and  the  man  alone  in  the  silence  with 
his  thoughts. 

And  here  might  well  end  the  story  of  Jees 
Uck,  but  for  the  crown  she  put  upon  her  re 
nunciation.  When  she  returned  to  the  North 
to  dwell  in  her  grand  log-house,  John  Thomp 
son  found  that  the  P.  C.  Company  could  make 
a  shift  somehow  to  carry  on  its  business  with 
out  his  aid.  Also,  the  new  agent  and  the 
succeeding  agents  received  instructions  that 
the  woman  Jees  Uck  should  be  given  what 
soever  goods  and  grub  she  desired,  in  whatso 
ever  quantities  she  ordered,  and  that  no  charge 
should  be  placed  upon  the  books.  Further,  the 
company  paid  yearly  to  the  woman  Jees  Uck 
a  pension  of  five  thousand  dollars. 

When  he  had  attained  suitable  age,  Father 
Champreau  laid  hands  upon  the  boy,  and  the 
time  was  not  long  when  Jees  Uck  received 
letters  regularly  from  the  Jesuit  college  in 
Maryland.  Later  on  these  letters  came  from 
Italy,  and  still  later  from  France.  And  in  the 


THE    STORY    OF   JEES    UCK        285 

end  there  returned  to  Alaska  one  Father  Neil, 
a  man  mighty  for  good  in  the  land,  who  loved 
his  mother  and  who  ultimately  went  into  a 
wider  field  and  rose  to  high  authority  in  the 
order. 

Jees  Uck  was  a  young  woman  when  she 
went  back  into  the  North,  and  men  still  looked 
upon  her  and  yearned.  But  she  lived  straight, 
and  no  breath  was  ever  raised  save  in  commen 
dation.  She  stayed  for  a  while  with  the  good 
sisters  at  Holy  Cross,  where  she  learned  to 
read  and  write  and  became  versed  in  practical 
medicine  and  surgery.  After  that  she  returned 
to  her  grand  log-house  and  gathered  about  her 
the  young  girls  of  the  Toyaat  village,  to  show 
them  the  way  of  their  feet  in  the  world.  It  is 
neither  Protestant  nor  Catholic,  this  school  in 
the  house  built  by  Neil  Bonner  for  Jees  Uck, 
his  wife ;  but  the  missionaries  of  all  the  sects 
look  upon  it  with  equal  favor.  The  latch- 
string  is  always  out,  and  tired  prospectors  and 
trail-weary  men  turn  aside  from  the  flowing 
river  or  frozen  trail  to  rest  there  for  a  space 
and  be  warm  by  her  fire.  And,  down  in  the 


286        THE   STORY   OF   JEES    UCK 

States,  Kitty  Bonner  is  pleased  at  the  interest 
her  husband  takes  in  Alaskan  education  and 
the  large  sums  he  devotes  to  that  purpose ; 
and,  though  she  often  smiles  and  chaffs,  deep 
down  and  secretly  she  is  but  the  prouder  of 
him. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

Renewals  may  be  marl*  A  A«™  ".:. 
Renewed  books  aj 


• 


MAR 


'     -_£•/-: 
C.J 

7  '82 


SEC.  CIR.     fEB23'76 


ttdCIR.   SEP     7ffiC 


LD21A-40m-3,'72 


.General  Libraiy 
University  of  Californi 


Berkeley 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


